Adorable and Fluffy
by For the Kingdom
Summary: Michael and Charlie, happily married and with a couple kids of their own, decide to buy what's left of Fazbear's Fright and turn it into a memorial. William, springtrapped and sealed inside the building for a decade, would do anything for a second chance at family. What will Mike and Charlie do when they find that the past isn't as dead as they had thought?
1. Leave Me Alone, I'm Caught to the Bone

A/N: AU where Michael Afton was never scooped and he and Charlie Emily got married and made a good life for themselves after everything went down. 1/3 game lore, 1/3 book lore, 1/3 dayshift at freddy's lore, and just a sprinkle of my own headcanons.

Timeframe is skewed so that I can have all the right characters there at the right ages. :) I'm thinking 25 years total since Will started killing the kids, 20 years after William died. Making Michael (and Charlie) around 30 years old.

I've been reading a lot of "Springtrap and Deliah" by the incredible GraWolfQuinn on Deviantart ( grawolfquinn) and I knew I had to write something about old Springy myself. So this is kind of a tribute to GraWolfQuinn :) The story title is from one of the lines in her webcomic.

The chapter title is from the song "I'm the Purple Guy" by DA Games.

* * *

Chapter 1: Leave Me Alone, I'm Caught to the Bone

William didn't remember what it felt like to be caught in the rain.

He didn't remember how it felt to have the drops reach their icy fingers all the way through his clothes, making his skin clammy and cold. He didn't remember what it was like to walk home in the dark, soaked and freezing, hugging his coat tighter, even though he didn't know if it made him warmer or colder, thinking of a nice dry house where his mother would already have a fire going in the fireplace and perhaps even a pot of tea already steeped. He didn't remember running up to his room and changing into a warm, heavy sweater and pajama pants and spreading his schoolbooks and his spiral notebooks where he did all of his drawings out on the hearth to dry them out.

It's good he didn't remember any of that, otherwise a night such as this, sitting alone on the leaf-strewn floor inside Fazbear's Fright, with water and grime dripping through the plentiful holes in the ceiling, would have bothered him. The old moisture that drained through the holes where his ears attached and dripped irritatingly down the inside of his suit, speeding up the rot of faux fur and other more organic material, would have driven him insane years ago.

There wasn't much to do anymore since the night guard had stopped coming years ago. Management had decided that the horror attraction was more horror than attraction and closed it down. The frayed wires in his throat buzzed once, twice, in what passed as a laugh these days. That had been fun while it had lasted. He'd scared away quite a few night guards, and even caught one, back before his joints had rusted solid. There had been something enjoyable about chasing stupid youngsters in the dark dressed as a goddamn seven foot rabbit. But then the last one had clocked him hard with a wrench, right across the shins, and snapped something crucial. Was it bone? Corroded metal? A bit of both? Hell if Will knew. He couldn't bend down that far in his suit to see. Whatever had happened, it turned his walk to slow, lumbering phantom pain - he wasn't sure if he felt pain anymore, or if it was just his rotting human brain remembering what pain was supposed to feel like.

Anyway, that wrench to the shins had stopped all games of cat and mouse indefinitely. And then the building shut down and he didn't see any more night guards, no more kids. Not even gangly teenage ones hanging all over each other, pretending that they weren't scared and that the rotting bunny man looked, wow, so fake, let's get a pic. It seemed that the daytime programming was still strong and, no matter what William did, he couldn't get the arms to close around their throats or to bite them when they got right up close and poked at his chipped glass eyes. Blasted programming choice. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and Henry had insisted on it, but boy did it make this purgatory feel more like hell.

There wasn't much reason to go walking around anymore, though. The door and windows had been bolted shut with sheetmetal, as though the new owner meant to turn the building into some kind of utility shed. That was ten years ago, though, and nothing came of it. Nothing happened, except the slow, unstoppable force of rot and rust. Just recently, the roof had begun to cave in, but cruelly, ironically, it only happened after he was no longer able to make that sort of climb. He couldn't fit through any of those tiny holes, anyway. They were only large enough to let ivy and rain through. And a bit of moonlight. That sure was nice.

The moon was high and bright tonight, even through the rainclouds. William eased slowly onto his back so that he could stare up at it without the difficulty of keeping his head angled upward. God, his head was heavy. Felt like it had gotten heavier lately. Drops of rain dripped onto him from leaves and broken beams. They disappeared into the rancid yellow fur on his chest, onto his decimated snout, onto his animatronic eyes. He liked it when they fell on his eyes the most, because when they did, they would sometimes also trace along to the underside and drip into his skull. When the rain made contact with whatever flesh and bone still remained inside his head, William felt the cold, he felt the dark, he smelled his musty suit, he thought of walking home in the rain. He thought of Elizabeth, Michael, George, sticky ice cream fingers on a hot summer day. Just for a moment. Whether it was supernatural or just the water reacting with one of the cables that pierced through his brain, he didn't know and didn't much care. It was the last pocket of gold he had and he held it tight behind his broken teeth.

What was it again that had been so important that it had driven him to become this, he thought, flexing his sore fingers in the wet leaves, scraping them on the concrete underneath. Immortal life, huh? Ha, well, not sure he'd call this eternal "life."

His audio receptors picked up the sound of scuffling claws in the dark. He lifted his head up suddenly and shone his faintly glowing eyes into the dark, trash filled corner. It was probably just a rat, but it had been so long since William had heard another living being that he searched desperately for it. The scratching and scuffling continued and finally, emerging from an overturned speaker, came a raccoon with a scrap of something in its hands. William watched it, completely still, satisfied with how his night was turning out. He hadn't seen a raccoon for, god, it had to be—

Wait a second, he thought. How did a raccoon get in? It wasn't through that hole in the ceiling, that was damn sure. William shot up with an echoing creak. The raccoon locked eyes on him and froze in shock; it hadn't registered him as a living thing and now it was cornered.

"How dddiid y-you g-get in?" William mused in his buzzing, malfunctioning voice box.

The raccoon dropped its snack and ran.

"N-no w-wait! Please!" he called after it, struggling to his feet. His ankles refused to bend and he fell onto his face. The raccoon didn't wait. William heard its feet disappear down the hall. "Damn y-you!" he yelled. He felt one of the wires in his shoulder snap, which caused his arm to go limp. He squirmed on the floor until he could find his footing again. Clutching his dangling arm, he limped down the hall.

"Where did you c-come from?!" he demanded, glowing eyes piercing the dark like spring locks. "P-please, I want, I j-just w-want…"

Sticky ice cream fingers. Rain in his hair. Henry with the kettle on.

"Pleassse, don't l-l-leave me…"

The raccoon wasn't listening. William slowly checked all the rooms, but wherever it had come from, it had hid or exited the same way. He was standing in the last room at the end of the hall, the mens bathroom, the room with the least number of windows in the whole building and he knew he had lost it.

"D-d-dammmmmmit!"

William punched the wall with his good hand, he punched it with his bad hand, he kicked it with both bad feet. The framework of the building shuddered in response but it held firm. Thank you, Henry, damn you. Like everything else in his life, it rebuffed him, no matter how much he screamed and raged.

When he and his mother had moved from south London to south New York City, his mother had told him that if he wanted his new high school peers to like him, all he needed to do was assert himself. Assert himself and smile. Introduce himself, sit down at lunch tables, steer the conversation. But, despite his mother's advice, when he sat down, students left the table and found another. Only one boy had stayed put, and afraid of being alone at school any longer, William had clung tightly to him.

The wall wasn't going to give, so William stopped his assault. Ten years ago, he'd have punched it until it broke on principle, but these days, what was the point? He stayed facing the wall, swaying on unsteady legs for a moment, letting his anger cool. He held up his broken arm and stared at it in wonder. How much worse could his body get before his soul was finally ejected into whatever punishment awaited him? When the building finally crumbled and he was nothing but a skull and bunny ears under a ton of rubble, would he still be here? That thought was the only thing that scared him away from experimenting; not that he could do much to his suit anyway with the lackluster tools left in the office.

Maybe he would never pass on to where souls go, maybe that was what hell was: stuck dying an unending death, alone and forgotten in silent darkness. Maybe this is where he would be until the sun went dark, too. He thought about this as he returned to his spot under the crack in the roof to wait out another night.

But William was wrong. What he didn't and couldn't know was at that very moment, an online auction closed on a dilapidated building being sold "as is" just outside of Denver. A congratulatory email was sent to Mike Schmidt, who had already tucked in the kids and climbed into bed with his wife and wouldn't see it until the next morning.

* * *

A/N: Oh the angst! Had to get it in there somewhere. But don't worry. This is going to be a fluff-angst piece. Plenty of sadness but also plenty of pancakes. I'm thinking this will be 5-10 chapters, but we'll see.


	2. It's Me Michael

A/N: Chapter 2! We get to see things from Michael's point of view, see adult Charlie, and meet the kiddos. And some other encounters as well.

Just a quick note, I've changed the name of the crying child to George. So, if reference to a George shows up, it's not Georgie Denbrough, it's Michael's little brother.

* * *

The next morning, on the other side of Denver, Mike woke to the hiss of the shower turning on.

He stretched and rolled over to the look at the digital clock on the bedside table. Charlie's bedtime reading was obscuring the numbers, so he lazily scooted the books aside to see that it was 6:16 AM.

"A little late today," he yawned face planting into the pillow.

"What'd you say, Mike?" Charlie called from the master bathroom.

"I said it's almost noon and you're late for work," Mike said back.

The shower turned off and in thirty seconds flat, Charlie was emerging wrapped up in a fuzzy white bathrobe, her short hair slicked back.

"Don't even joke," she said as she leaned over to kiss him. "Can you wake the kiddos as I make breakfast?"

"Can do," said Mike, reaching his arms up to pull her back down on the bed.

She giggled and shrieked, sounding just like she did in junior high. She pushed him off playfully.

"We don't have time for that!" she laughed. "Save it for later, Michael Schmidt. I gotta get to work."

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "Kiddos and breakfast first."

"I'll get the coffee going," she said striding out of the room.

"Already done!" he called after her, rolling off the bed. "I programmed it last night."

"You're a life saver!"

Mike stood up and stretched, earning a satisfying series of pops from his spine. He slipped on his robe, a thin cotton one, blue with stripes, and he shuffled down the hallway to the kids's rooms. Both children required a special sequence of events in order to get them up on time, which is why it was important to start the process early enough in the morning. Beth, ten going on eleven, needed a lot of prodding to get up, but she got offended if you treated her like a child, so her morning began with a couple soft raps on the door.

"Beth," Mike said quietly through the wood.

"Mmmmm," came her reply.

"Time for school…"

"Okay…" she said.

And Beth's portion was done for ten minutes. On to little Sammy. Sammy was six and his morning routine took more work but was less complicated. He was also concerned about not being treated like a child, but to him, it was okay for adults to have their parents enter their rooms unannounced and pick out their clothes for them.

Mike knocked softly on Sammy's door and opened it.

"Oh Sammy," Mike said in a quiet, sing song voice.

Sammy was buried underneath mounds of blankets with rocket ships and aliens on them. A rotating nightlight sat on his desk, projecting pink and blue stars across the ceiling. He stirred briefly. Mike stepped quietly to his closet and laid out the jeans, t-shirt, and zip hoodie he'd be wearing that day. It was still early autumn, but Mike added Sammy's heavier winter coat as well, in case it was too cold for just a sweatshirt.

"Mommy's making breakfast," Mike cooed, scooping Sammy's colorful books and crayons into his backpack. Now where did his lunchbox go?

"Can I have pancakes?" asked Sammy.

"I think it's probably oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar."

There was a groan and the blankets scrunched up tighter.

"Oatmeal puts more fuel in your rockets," Mike explained. He spotted the dinosaur patterned zip lunchbox wedged under Sammy's tiny desk. He crouched down to pull it loose. "Gotta have enough energy for the swing set."

"It's kickball, Dad." Sammy sat up reluctantly and rubbed his eye with his tiny fist.

"What is?"

"No one plays on the swings anymore. That's for babies."

"Huh, well, I like the swings," muttered Michael, setting the lunchbox on the desk. He unzipped it and found Sammy's glasses wedged between a thermos and a sticky sandwich bag. He held them up disapprovingly.

"Sammy, what have we told you?"

"I wanted to keep them safe so they wouldn't break at recess!" he protested.

Mike sighed and folded them up. "Well, let's put them in their case from now on when you're not wearing them, okay? On your face or in their case. That's our motto."

This wasn't the strangest place Mike had found Sammy's glasses. They had ended up in the garage, in the freezer, under the deck, in a math workbook, under a cushion in the couch… Charlie suggested that some wordplay might help him remember to put his glasses back in the right spot. It didn't seem to be helping much so far. Really, they ended up so many different places, Michael wondered how often Sammy actually wore them.

"Okay, Dad."

"Good," said Mike. "Well, I'm going to go wash these off. Get dressed, brush your teeth and hair, and meet in the kitchen by 6:45, okay?"

"Okay."

Mike smiled in approval and left the room, sticky glasses and lunchbox cradled in his arms. He gave another drive-by knock and "Are you awake?" on Beth's door, then continued on downstairs to the kitchen. Charlie already had the oatmeal made and was setting the table.

"I can take it from here," said Mike planting a kiss on Charlie's lips.

Charlie smiled. "Thanks love," she said, running back upstairs to get ready for work.

Michael finished setting the table, poured himself a cup of coffee, and opened his laptop to quickly check his emails before the kids came down for breakfast. He logged in, took a sip, and nearly spit it out.

"Charlie?!" he called, afraid to take his eyes off of the email.

"What?! What is it?!" Charlie called, rushing back down, hair only half dry.

Mike couldn't speak, so he turned his laptop around for her to see. She leaned in close to read the subject and put a hand over her mouth in shock.

"Oh god," she whispered.

"What's going on?" Beth called, coming down the stairs. Sammy followed sleepily.

Charlie didn't know what to say.

"Well, um, you know that auction for the building that your father and I entered?"

"The old Freddy Fazbear place?"

Both Michael and Charlie visibly jolted. Strange that their reaction could be so visceral after all this time.

"Yes, sweetie, and, well, we won."

"Yay!" Sammy cheered, jumping up and down even though he didn't really understand what an auction was.

"You mean you own Freddy Fazbear's now?" Beth understood more of the implications. "You could open it up again! And we could play games and eat pizza all day if we want to, right?"

"We're not going to reopen it," said Michael, sounding more stern than he meant to. The kids settled down immediately and he felt ashamed. He sighed. "Mom and I wanted to buy it so we can turn it into a memorial for something bad that happened when we were kids."

"You mean about the robots and the dead kids?" asked Sammy.

"Wha-?" Mike asked dumbfounded, "_Samuel, _where did you hear that?"

Beth looked away innocently, suddenly very interested in the oatmeal.

Mike sighed again, then stood up. "Yes, kiddo," he said, ruffling Sammy's hair. "It's for the kids. The ones we knew," he looked meaningfully at Charlie, "and the ones we didn't."

"I think the kids would have wanted you to reopen it," grumbled Beth.

"What's a memorial?" asked Sammy.

"It's something you build so that people will remember something important. It can be a statue or a building—"

"You should make a statue of Fredbear," said Sammy.

"We were thinking a park," said Charlie. "With lots of grass and trees, maybe even a jungle gym and some swings."

Michael and Sammy exchanged a secret look but neither said a word.

"I like that," said Sammy. "I think the other kids would too."

Charlie smiled. "Good." She glanced at the clock. "Oh wow! I need to get dressed, and you guys have to get outside for the bus soon. Quick, eat up!"

Against all odds, both kids made it out to the bus stop, dressed, fully fed, and with their backpacks _and_ lunch boxes in tow. Charlie and Michael watched them out the window with their arms around each other's waists as they did every morning. The bus pulled up and Beth helped her little brother get on.

"Don't go there while I'm at work, okay?" Charlie said, "I have a meeting at eleven, but I'll come right home after that, and then we can check it out together before the kids get home. I don't think either of us should go there alone."

Michael leaned over to kiss her cheek. Charlie was pretty tall, but he had inherited his father's height. He wondered briefly how tall his siblings would have ended up.

"You're probably right," he said.

Charlie left for work soon after with a solemn kiss goodbye. Michael stood at the window with his coffee and watched her drive away. The minute she did, he washed his coffee down the sink and ran upstairs to get dressed.

Charlie had her own demons to face at Fazbear's, but Michael needed to face his first and alone. They had completely decimated his family, picked up the pieces, stitched them together, and destroyed them again. Somehow, even though he had been scattered across the floor of his mind like ash, _somehow_ he had coalesced into a person-shaped figure again. It seemed like a kindness, but it was a cruelty. Why had _he_ been the only survivor? Why was _he_ the only one who had to go on remembering it?

Charlie had seen the tragedies from the other side. Growing up with her aunt in Hurricane, she had been shielded from most of the fallout that their fathers had caused together. The contamination of the Aftons had only touched the briefest edges of her and even that had corroded her mind with scars. What would she do if she saw, truly, how much of him had been eaten away? He felt like he was made entirely of scar tissue. He and Charlie had talked about it before, but words could never pierce through that sinewy radioactive charcoal. He used to be afraid of ending up like his father. Everyone already said he looked just like him. He thought maybe he had inherited his father's radioactive touch, but Charlie proved him wrong again and again. Their kids proved him wrong. He was all right.

Even so, he needed to face the building by himself first, to make sure he was still all right. Because he didn't want Charlie to see him if he fell apart and she couldn't put him back together. He didn't want her to blame herself if the ghosts pulled him apart again. If he couldn't make sure his past was safe, he wouldn't let his present enter. Not even Charlie.

Michael slipped on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and his trusty Carhartt. He packed a bag with a flashlight and wire cutters. He almost added a knife or pepper spray to the mix but then laughed uneasily at himself. The animatronics were long gone and besides, a knife or pepper spray wouldn't do much to stop them. He called the current owner on his way out the door.

"Hi, it's Michael Schmidt. I'd like to pick up the key to Fazbear's Fright if you're available." He climbed into his work truck and turned the key in the engine. "I'm on my way over to you right now. Yeah, just the key, thanks. I'll give you the check in person." He pulled out of the driveway and sped towards the freeway entrance. "No, you don't need to show me around the place. I know it."

—-

In less than an hour, Michael had handed over the check, signed the necessary papers and was standing in front of the skeleton of a building, keys in hand. He had been so eager to enter the building that he hadn't actually prepared himself mentally for it. Because of this, he stood frozen solid in the broken up, sand blasted remains of the parking lot, keys held safely away and to the side like a cocked gun as he looked up at the gaping maw of Fazbear's Fright. What a stupid idea, he thought, Fazbear's Fright.

When he and Charlie had heard that the old building was up for auction, they knew they had to do whatever they could to contain it and, if possible, turn it into something good. They talked about making a nice park out of the acre and a half it stood on, maybe with a nice mural in the center. But looking at it now, Michael's fingers itched to just burn it down, go home, and try to forget it ever existed. Forget that the Aftons ever existed. But he'd already tried running once before, and it hadn't worked. Freddy's and the Aftons were inside him wherever he went. If he wanted them to leave, he had to lay them to rest properly. And even _that_ might not work. So, with a deep and shaking breath, he approached the front door that had been reinforced with sheet metal and tied up tight with chains with a large padlock on the front. Michael slowly put the first key into the padlock and removed the chains. He put the second key into the exposed lock on the door and turned it.

The click it made when it unlocked took Michael back to a happier time, coming to work with his dad after their mother had left. It wasn't happier that she had left, but it was nice to get to spend time with his dad. He was a terrible person but, for his family, he always brought home cake and toys left over from birthday parties. He always showed Mike and his siblings design ideas for new animatronics and solemnly asked their opinions on them, as though he were presenting a project proposal to a board of trustees. He let Michael and his friends hang out at Freddy's indefinitely and eat their weight in pizza after school, and he let them pick out whatever toys they wanted from the prize counter. Those things stuck with Michael, even though, looking back now, they seemed like cheap ploys by a frustrated and overworked single father who just wanted to keep his three rambunctious kids occupied and quiet for a few hours. But Michael couldn't really fault him for that.

Mike pulled the door open and was hit with the musky scent of mold and long undisturbed places. He waited on the doorstep, bouncing the flashlight against his thigh, trying to get up the courage to step across the threshold. The thing that gave the final push was realizing that he only had two hours before Charlie got home and he needed to fight his demons and go home and wash the shell shocked look off his face before she did. So, he clicked on his flashlight and walked into the darkness.

The interior of Fazbear's Fright was silent and dusty. The windows had been nailed shut with sheet metal, so the only source of light inside besides his flashlight were the open door and a couple pinpricks in the dining room area where it looks like the roof had begun to cave in. Each step felt like a mile and Mike could barely keep his feet moving forward. The walls had been spray painted with paint that would glow under a black light with scary yet family friendly versions of the Fazbear tragedies. There was Foxy chasing a child, hook brandished and sharp. There was one of Chica swallowing a terrified child as other children scattered in fear. Mike shone the light around the walls. They were covered with these images, as well as spooky phrases like "I'm Coming for You!" and "Time to Eat!" and "Children Are My Favorite Dish!"

Judging this lackluster writing helped bring Mike back into the present and he actually found himself smirking and shaking his head.

"Completely deranged," he said out loud, just so that he didn't feel so alone.

He shone his light around the smaller party rooms and found nothing but some overturned chairs, trash, and abandoned props from the horror attraction. This wasn't so bad, he thought. Maybe he had already put the worst stuff to rest in his mind. Maybe he and Charlie would be able to send this place peacefully on away from them, like the kind of river funerals in fantasy movies. Those happy thoughts died when Michael's beam caught something painted on the far wall of the largest party room.

It was golden and red and black. Mike stumbled over chairs to get to it, yet he was afraid to get too close. It was a painting of the bite. Of George. His head crushed in Fredbear's jaws up on stage. Michael's heart liquified and his legs shook violently. He had to grab onto one of the tables to keep from losing his balance, but he couldn't look away. As if the mural wasn't bad enough, someone had added something crudely in a red paint the color of blood. With the red paint, the vandal had drawn a crying or bleeding stick figure holding George up with two wobbly arms. "I'm sorry." was written large and badly, blocking out Fredbear's face. As an afterthought, three more stick figures had been added beside the first one, one with pigtails.

Once Michael's head stopped swimming and he was sure he wasn't going to vomit, he continued through the room towards the mural. How could they know that Michael was the one who did that, and who would be so cruel as to add it? He was angry and sad and he wanted to destroy the wall but he also wanted to take a picture of it and stare at it every night. He didn't want Charlie to see it, but there wasn't much he could do unless he wanted to paint over it. And there wasn't time for that.

Michael continued walking until he was at the back of the room with the mural and he noticed that there was something lying on the floor underneath it. It looked like an animatronic. He shone his light on it but immediately jolted and dropped his flashlight. It lit up the floor, shining up through the carcass of Springbonnie, the suit that had killed his father. With the light shining up into the suit, it was clear that part of his father had never made it out.

Mike's knees buckled and he sank to the floor, his mind racing between old memories with his father and the suit, and then switching to the more practical questions of the present, like funerals and logistics and restarting the grieving process and how was he going to tell Beth and Sammy? He froze in shock, sitting three feet away from his dead father, and he wished he hadn't come alone after all. He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing at all. Just sat there and stared at the decrepit, bloody suit. There was a huge hole right in the torso, exposing endoskeleton and bone, and the right hand was especially bloody. Michael looked at the hand, and then up at the defaced mural. The spidery handwriting looked a little like his father's.

There had been rumors that some of the animatronics were possessed by the spirits of the kids his father and Henry had killed, before everyone knew it was them. His father had believed so at least. Sometimes, when he came home drunk, he would call Michael into the kitchen, spread out blueprints of Freddy's and rant about changed walking patterns and intelligence and "remnant." Mike didn't get it and had figured this was just the latest thing his dad was paranoid about, added to the mail carrier tracking his movements and the neighbors breaking into his workshop out back to steal his ideas. Mike would politely listen, wait for him to finish and pass out on the couch, and then go back upstairs to finish his homework.

But could it be…? Michael crawled slowly over to the suit, picked up the flashlight, and shone it at the face. The mask's smiling jaw hung open a little and Mike saw the full lower half of his father's dead face. Michael gagged but nothing came up. He waited for his stomach to settle and then looked closer. Metal rods had pierced up the neck, through the bottom jaw and disappeared into the roof of his mouth. The rest of the face was hidden under the mask. Wiping his nose on his sleeve and moving before he had time to convince himself not to, he removed the pins that his father had showed him allowed the face of Springbonnie to open. When he unlocked it, he had to pry it up manually because the hydraulics didn't work anymore.

He could only look at his father's face for a second before he turned away and heaved again. The head was mangled and cracked with wires and rods and the flesh had almost completely rotted away, but there was no mistaking William Afton's face. The scent burned Mike's nose. Dead flesh mixed with machine grease, mixed with some pheromone that the primal part of his brain registered as fear. Staring at his face felt like torture, but Michael couldn't make himself look away. He was both disappointed and relieved that his father had been wrong about possessed robots.

Something buzzed in the suit that sounded like static and metal. It was coming from the throat. Michael stared at the tangle of cords stuck together with old flesh. Maybe he had imagined it, or maybe it was the suit's response to having the faceplate opened. The thought that the suit could still run with his father dead inside made Mike feel sick. He looked back up at his father's face and jumped. The flat, dead eyes were staring at him instead of the ceiling like before, and they didn't look dead anymore. They looked desperate with the panic of living. The wires in the throat crackled again and Michael's heart stopped.

"D-dad?" He choked on the word.

The throat buzzed longer and cut short. Long, short. Two long sounds, and a cut off. Over and over, clearer each time. Hurried, like it was frustrated it was taking so long. "If you want to get really good at anything, you have to practice like crazy," his father used to say.

"Mmmmiiiiiiiiiiiiike…"

Mike hurriedly wiped his tears on his sleeve. "Dad, is that you?" he asked. "Is that you talking?"

"Mmmmiiiiiiike. Hhhhhhhhhhh…" the buzzing fizzed out and the eyes looked beyond frustrated. "Hhhheeeelllllll…"

Right then, William wasn't a corpse or a murderer, he was just Mike's dad. Mike wasn't thinking ahead, he wasn't thinking about consequences and influences or anything like that. At that moment, Mike was fourteen again in his father's workshop, helping free his father's hand from a springlock failure.

"What can I do, Dad?" he asked.

He knew a little about animatronics from his father, but he had no idea where even to begin with this. Was his father still alive, or was he dead and possessing the suit like he theorized was possible so many years ago? Looking at what was left of the rest of his body, his father being physically, literally alive wasn't likely, but stranger things had happened, right? Still, a hospital was out of the question until they knew what was really going on.

"H-hhhh-hellllpp, Mmmiikkke."

The static was turning into a voice. It was turning into a garbled electronic version of his father's voice. The body twitched once, but made no other movements.

"G-gg-g-geeeett mmmmmooooouuuuutttaaaa h-h-h-h…"

"O-out of the suit?" asked Mike.

"Nnooo…hheeerrree." The eyes looked up at the ceiling, then back at Michael. The mouth wasn't moving to create the words. "Pppppplllllleeeeasse…Mmiikke. G-g-gettt mmee ooouut-t."

"And go where, Dad? Back home? Back to Nevada?" Mike laughed, crying, on the verge of being driven insane by the ridiculous situation. "Are you going to buy a house and get a job?"

The shoulder jerked once.

"Annnnyyyywhhherrrre b-b-b-uuttt hhheere, p-please."

"You killed people," said Mike. "You know that? You destroyed our family."

The corpse's eyes drifted up to the mural. The stick figure holding George wasn't Michael, he realized. Michael was among the other three.

"I-I-I'mmmmm sssssss…" The words fizzed out. The arm next to Mike spasmed. "Iiiiiiiimmm ssssoooo…"

Michael's cellphone rang in his coat pocket. He fished it out and looked at the ID.

"It's Charlie," he said, jittery. "My-my wife."

"Wwwwiiiffe….?"

"Yeah, I, um, I should take this." Michael stood up on shaking legs. "I'll be right back."

"M-mike! P-p-please d-don't l-lllleeave.."

But Michael was already out into the hall. He took a deep breath and then slid open the call.

"Hi honey!" he greeted too loudly.

"Honey?" Charlie chuckled. "Since when do you call me 'honey'?"

"Can't I branch out?" He laughed nervously and glanced back at the party room. If he concentrated, he could hear his father calling for him from the floor. "What's up?"

"I was just calling to see if you're doing okay, and to tell you that my meeting got cancelled, so I'm on my way home. We can check out Fazbear's before lunch, if you're up for it."

"Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiike!" came drifting from the far room.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," said Mike. "Sounds good to me. See you in a half hour."

"Okay," said Charlie. "And don't worry, we'll conquer Fazbear's together."

"I look forward to it," said Mike, his eyes drifting to the party room. "Bye. Honey."

He ended the call. He put the phone into his pocket and slowly smoothed his hair back, heart pounding. He felt a panic attack approaching.

"Miiiiike!" his father called louder. "H-hellllp, p-please! P-please d-d-don't lleeeaave! I-I'm s-s-s-sorrrrry!"

Mike ignored his father for thirty seconds and did the breathing exercises his therapist had recommended for when he felt overwhelmed. They worked pretty well and he used them quite often in his daily life. Before work, before bed, during work, and now getting ready to face his undead father. Truly a versatile exercise.

He re-entered the party room and found his father where he had left him. William's eyes tracked Mike desperately and, even though they were on their way towards becoming fertilizer, the look in them was still as clear as day: he hadn't expected Mike to come back. Mike ran his hands through his hair again, exasperated.

"Goddammit, Dad," he said. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

"I-I-I cannn't s-s-tay hhhheeere anymmmore, please…" His father's voice was shaking but it wasn't from spotty wiring. "Please, I-I-I'm sooorrry, p-please…"

"I have kids at home," said Mike, though he didn't know why. "I can't let you come with me."

"Y-y-you have k-k-k-kidss?"

"Yeah. Two of them. Six and ten. Samuel and Elizabeth."

"E-E-Elizzzzz—" The voice box snapped into silence for a long moment, then clicked and whirred, as though rebooting. "E-Elizabbethh," he said.

"Look, um, I have to go meet Charlie, but I'll be back later."

"N-no!" It was the clearest Mike had heard his father's voice yet. "P-please don't l-leave m-mee here…"

"I'll be right back," he assured him. He knelt down and carefully lowered the mask back into place. "And we'll figure something out."

He stood up and left the room before his father could protest.

"N-no!" he heard the electronic voice getting stronger. "P-please, Mike! No! Mmike p-p-pleease! Don't l-l-leave mmmeee h-here! Please! Miiike!"

Mike hurried out of the door, head down against his father's begging. He didn't like hearing him like that, and he felt even worse when he realized what a big lie he had told. Yes, he would be back. But there was no way he was letting him near Beth and Sammy. He didn't think his father would do anything to them, but then again, he also used to think his father couldn't possibly be the murderer the police were after. But at the same time, he couldn't just leave him there.

He turned to look back at the building, halfway back to his truck. He pulled out his phone and held it for a long minute before dialing.

"Hey Mike," Charlie answered on the other line. "What's up?"

"Hey Charlie, could you please meet me at Fazbear's? I'm sorry, I know I said I wouldn't go alone, but…we have a big, rabbit-shaped situation."

* * *

A/N: No zombie bunny grandpa yet in this chapter, sadly. Believe me, I did try, but at 14 pages, I woefully had to move it to the next chapter. But there will be fluff, and not just the moldy stuff on Springtrap's suit.


	3. Grandpa Springtrap

A/N: I found myself having to do a lot of research for this chapter, looking up such gems as "How many kids did William kill?" (though I know that's up for debate) and "Do wasps have queens?" and "When does Chuck E. Cheese close?" Google's not going to know what to suggest to me anymore.

Also, shoutout to Dinosaur: your reviews made my night. XD Thank you so much! The picture, in case you're curious, is from a silly little animation I made a while ago with the audio from that "Get on the Fridge" vine, except it's the Aftons. ((it's on my tumblr: onearmedshota))

* * *

"Please! M-Mike, p-please!"

William watched his son walk away and disappear into the hall. Michael, now an adult, shrouded in light, had descended into William's hell like an angel to save him. But it was too good to be true because soon after discovering him, he left. He said he would be back, but William knew better. If Michael made it out into the fresh air and sunlight of the living, he would not be coming back down.

He had to stop him while he had the chance, but Henry's damn daytime programming made that impossible. He pulled as hard as he could on the metal joints, but all he could manage were a few spasms. He couldn't even get his voice box to behave, constrained by the same programming. If only Mike had come after dark, William could have convinced him to take him home. Or at least leave the door open for him.

The front door closed and locked.

"I-I'm sorry, M-mike, please!" he shouted to the empty building. If Mike was still close by, maybe he could hear him. "I d-d-didn't mmmmm…" Damn voice box!

But really, he didn't "mean" to kill the children? It was to shut down their competitor, it was for research, he did it for his family? Even William knew that wasn't true. The real reasons haunted him like vengeful spirits.

"M-mike!" he called as loud as he could. His eyes rested on the mural above his head. He had thought all three of his children were dead, that his hubris had killed them all. But there was still Mike. Never the kindest, maybe not even the smartest of the three, but after George died, his hard naive edges had softened into solemn responsibility. The change in attitude had cost him his friends.

He looked just like William, but besides that, they weren't anything alike.

"Please… d-don't g-go…"

But Mike didn't hear him. He was probably long gone, back to his wife and kids. William realized that made him a grandfather. A grandpa. Grandpa Springtrap. It sounded weird because he didn't feel old enough to be a grandpa and, going by life experience and the fact that he had stopped aging once he died—rotting yes, aging, no—he technically wasn't old enough to have grandkids. But he liked the idea of it anyway. Maybe, tonight, when the sun went down, he would try the front door. Maybe Michael had weakened it. And then, before going on to do whatever he'd do for the rest of his afterlife, he would find Mike's house and peek in at his grandchildren. Maybe he'd do that for a couple nights. He wouldn't wake them up, he wouldn't even enter the house if he could avoid it. He just wanted to see them. That way, he could hold them in his mind, in the old chest where he kept memories of his own children and Henry. After that, maybe he'd go on to find Henry. He'd be…what…sixty? If Mike was alive, maybe Henry had made it out as well. If only he didn't have to wait until nightfall.

Out in the entryway, the front door clicked unlocked and pushed open, briefly splashing the far wall with sunlight. William strained to see past the chairs but the sides of the rabbit head blocked his view. It didn't matter because he knew who it was already.

"Mike!" he shouted happily, "Y-you c-came b-b-back!"

"Is that him?" said a woman's voice.

"Yes," answered Mike quietly. "It's okay if you freak out—I freaked out—"

"I'm not going to freak out," said the woman. "I'm here for you."

Ah, thought William. That was probably Charlie. Henry had a daughter named Charlotte, but he never called her Charlie. She had gone to live with another relative when her brother died. Not William's fault. Not Henry's fault either, probably. Like his own children, Henry's son was probably just one of the many tragedies that surrounded their work. Henry never told William exactly what had happened to him, though. Even when William was crying on Henry's couch, talking about Elizabeth's death, and then George's death, saying how stupid he was and what a bad father he was to lose not one, but two children. Even then, Samuel's death remained vague, something Henry "didn't want to talk about." Maybe it was Henry's daughter, though. After all, she and Mike had named their son Samuel.

Mike brought Charlie into the main room and shone the flashlight at her feet so she could avoid the chairs and other debris between the tables. William tried to play it cool, deciding that if he had to meet Mike's wife as an undead bunny rabbit, he would be the most amiable undead bunny rabbit she'd ever met. If Mike saw how put together he was, maybe he'd be more likely to take him home. As much as William was okay with sneaking glances at his family under cover of night, there was a chance—a sliver, though it was—that Mike might have mercy on him and allow him to come home with them. That sliver of hope pierced him and would not let go. If there was any way at all that he could convince Mike to do that for him, he had to make it happen.

Mike and Charlie stepped into the space by the mural. Mike shined the flashlight beam onto William and Charlie gasped.

"Oh my god…"

"H-hello, C-c-charrrlie," William said as confidently as his severe anxiety would allow. "I-I-I'm Mmmike's f-father. S-sssorry for m-my appearance, s-s-springlocks are sooo ffffinnnicky," he buzzed a weak chuckle. "Are you H-h-h-hhh-Henry's d-daughter?"

Charlie didn't answer and, instead, looked up at Mike. Mike was putting on a brave face, but she could tell that he was just barely holding it together. She wrapped her arm around his waist and held his hand.

"I am," she answered. "And you're William Afton."

"I-I-I am," said William, delighted. "I u-used to work with your f-father b-baaaack in the d-day."

"I know," she replied. "You helped him kidnap and murder children."

William's heart would have dropped if it wasn't held in place by the endoskeleton's metal shoulder blades. All was lost. She knew. Of course she knew! Why wouldn't Mike tell her? Stupid William, thinking he could charm his way through this one. He hadn't even been able to charm his peers in high school. He smiled a lot, he talked a lot, he was friendly, yet everyone still said he was a creep. What more did they want? He was trying his hardest!

"W-w-w-well…" he began, "Y-y-y-yeeeessss, th-that's t-true, b-but…y-you have to u-u-undersssstand, o-o-ouuur r-reeeessssearch…"

Charlie turned away from him and faced Mike.

"He hasn't changed," she said sternly.

"He's my dad, Charlie—"

"I know he's your dad, but if he gets out, he's going to kill more kids."

"But we have to do something with him. We can't just leave him in this building forever—"

"W-w-wait!" William jerked so hard he almost lifted his head off the floor. He had to fix this. Charm wasn't cutting it. "C-can we start o-over? I-I'm s-sorry. I-I s-s-shouldn't have d-done what I did. I c-convinced mmmyself it was n-n-necessary for m-my research, b-but it wasn't. It was c-cruel and I'd do a-anything to t-take it b-b-back."

Charlie watched him silently with an unreadable expression. She let go of Mike's hand and slowly crouched down beside William. She stared directly into his eyes and even through the glass shells, William could feel her gaze piercing into his frontal lobe. He was mesmerized, terrified and hopeful of what she would say next.

"Stop. Lying."

William and Mike both jumped in surprise at the confrontation. William searched for a reaction in Charlie as well, but she was still glaring directly into his soul. She knew what she had said and she stood behind it one hundred percent. Furthermore, she demanded a response.

"Stop lying. For once."

William was caught, more caught than he had ever been. Her glare held him tighter than springlocks and there was no way to wriggle out from underneath it. He glanced at Mike, who was watching from a few steps away, perhaps rooting for him, more likely waiting for him to open his big mouth and seal his doom. But he had to say something. And he really was sorry for what he had done to the children, so why was it so hard for him to apologize properly? Probably because he knew it wouldn't do anything but make him look worse than he already did. But what the hell, he had already lost everything else. Going back with Mike and meeting his grandkids had been a fun fantasy, but that's all it was. They were never going to let him near his grandkids.

"I-I'm sorry," he said again, more quietly. "I really a-am. I-I know you d-don't believe me, a-a-and that's o-okay. I-I k-killlllled the k-kids because I was a-angry and s-stupid and I th-thought I c-could get a-away with it. I-I-I didn't r-r-realize w-w-what I had done until it was t-too late."

"It took you five kids to realize what you had done was bad?" demanded Charlie.

William hesitated. There was nothing he could say that would make this better. "Y-y-yes. T-to realize t-t-that it was the k-kind of b-bad that c-c-couldn't be f-f-f-fixed. It m-made me f-feel alive, m-made me feel s-s-special. And when H-Henry approved, it m-made it easier for m-me to c-convince myself it was okay. B-but it wasn't." He looked up at the mural, at the crying stick figure. "A-and I've been in this h-hell ever since b-because of it."

"A hell you rightly deserve," said Charlie.

He looked at the painting of George: the artist had done their research and had definitely seen the crime scene pictures. George was even wearing the same clothes in the mural as he was on that awful day. If only William hadn't made the animatronics so dangerous.

"I-I know. And…" William tried to stop himself from saying it, but he couldn't. It came up like vomit. "a-and, if you want to l-leave me h-here, I…I…" The dusty darkness hung around William, threatening to swallow him for good. He was afraid, but if that's what Mike's family needed in order to heal, then he'd respect it. "…I understand."

Charlie's gaze softened and she looked back at Mike, who hadn't said a word this whole time. She got to her feet and walked over to him.

"Can we talk somewhere private?" she asked him.

Mike cleared his throat. "Yeah." He looked over at William. "We'll be right back. Dad."

"O-okay," said William, trying to sound friendly and well-adjusted and selfless. "T-take your time."

He wanted to scream and cry and beg Mike to save him, but that wasn't going to work on Charlie. She would not be persuaded by tears, only by the truth. And maybe not even then.

Mike and Charlie left the room to decide William's fate. William listened hard, but he could only make out snippets and, as much as he wanted to weave them together for a favorable outcome, he could just as easily see them combining in a conclusion that would leave him sealed in the building. He heard phrases like "Plenty of chances," and "Already paid," and "Still dangerous," and "He's family." William stared under the tables, then up at the mural, then up at the dark ceiling, the cracks and the ivy that would likely be his home until whatever was still tethering him to the physical world corroded away. How long that would take, he didn't know. A hundred years? Five hundred? Maybe even longer. The alloy he had used for Springbonnie's suit was pretty sturdy.

"Okay," he heard Mike say.

"It's for the best," said Charlie.

The floor vibrated with their combined footsteps as they approached the main room for the last time, ready to present their verdict. They were holding hands the way parents often did when they had bad news to impart to their children.

"Dad," said Mike, "Charlie and I…we've decided…"

William braced himself for the news that he would be alone for the rest of his afterlife. His suit spasmed from the influx of emotional energy, but he decided that he would not beg them to reconsider. He would respect their choice, even if it meant he was out of the picture.

"We've decided," said Mike, "to take you home."

William's suit stopped moving. His voice box stopped buzzing. He thought his audio receptors must have malfunctioned, but he was afraid to ask Mike to repeat what he had said.

"Dad?" Mike asked, after ten seconds of silence. "Are you still there?"

"Y-you…w-w-want to t-t-take m-me h-h-h-hhhhhome?" William asked. "Y-you f-f-f-forgive m-me?"

"I wouldn't go that far," said Charlie, "but it's clear you need help and…" Mike rubbed her back encouragingly. "…and we don't turn our back on family."

William looked at Mike. "You…you f-feel the same way, M-mike?"

Mike nodded. "You've done some awful things, a lot of awful things, but you're still my dad. After what happened to George, after what I did to him…I thought my life was over. I thought I didn't deserve to be loved anymore. But then Charlie found me and proved me wrong. And if I got a second chance when I didn't deserve one, I think you should get one too."

"G-george's death wasn't your f-fault," said William.

"Yes, it was," insisted Mike. "Now, do you want to come home or not?"

"Y-y-y-yes." The wires in William's voice box fizzed and threatened to give out. He couldn't believe he was leaving. "Y-y-yes, p-p-please. Th-th-thank you, Mike. Ch-Charlie."

"Good," Mike smiled to break the tension. He let go of Charlie and clapped his hands together, pressing his index fingers to his lips in thought, a mannerism William recognized was his own. "Now the tricky part: getting you out of here. You don't seem like you can walk, Dad."

"I c-can, but only after d-dark," replied William. Mike and Charlie looked confused. "D-daytime s-safety p-p-programming," he explained.

"Can we turn it off?" asked Mike.

"M-maybe," said William. "I-if the control panel is still a-a-accessible. B-but I-I'll need my t-t-tools."

"Where are your tools?"

"H-how should I know? I-I've been a r-r-rabbbbit for t-twenty years. Th-they u-used to be in m-my o-office, b-but that's l-long gone."

"Well, in the meantime," said Charlie, "all we have to do is wait until nightfall to transport him. That will give us some time to get the garage set up and find a safe way to get him home."

"G-garage?"

Charlie shrugged. "Sorry, William. Those are the rules."

"I-I u-understand."

Charlie turned to Mike. "You probably know more about animatronics than I do, since I haven't interacted with one since third grade. Want to get an early lunch and we can figure out a game plan?"

"That sounds good," agreed Mike.

Worry sparked through William's brain. "M-mike…"

"I'll be back before dark, Dad. I promise," said Mike. "Can you last one more afternoon on your own?"

William's fingers twitched just thinking about it. He couldn't imagine being alone for one more minute, but he would have to find a way to cope. Mike and Charlie said they were taking him home. He worried that they might change their minds throughout the day, but he just had to trust that they wouldn't.

"O-okay," William agreed, trying to put a smile into his voice. "H-hurry back."

Mike and Charlie left. The door clicked closed behind them and he heard two cars pull out of the parking lot. He stared up at the ceiling, at the sunlight filtering in through the holes, warming the ivy leaves. A paper wasp squeezed in and sniffed along the vine and ceiling, looking for a place to build a new nest. William had always sprayed wasp nests as soon as they appeared, but that seemed like a cruel thing to do now. Even wasps needed nests, he thought as he settled in to wait for the sun to go down.

—

William spent the rest of the day in agony. What he would have otherwise considered an uncommonly beautiful day was tainted by the fact that Mike wasn't there when he promised he'd be back. The sun moved across the hole in the roof, changing the shadows from right, to left, to non-existent. The wasp from the morning gave up its search, crawled back outside, and flew home to its queen. The traffic on the freeway got louder, then died down. The grayness of the building's interior turned darker and darker and still Mike didn't return.

William swore and pulled at his joints, trying to get them to move, but it was still too early and they ignored him. As the encroaching evening shrouded the murals on the walls in shadow, William knew that what he had feared the most had come true: Mike and Charlie had changed their minds. They had remembered what he had done and they had decided that it was better if they left him contained and alone.

If that was the case, he was going to find a way to break out, himself. Forget Mike, forget Charlie, forget their kids. He was going to find Henry and they'd go to Vegas. That's what they'd do. Go to fucking Vegas, where he'd be only the third weirdest thing on the street, and they'd get drunk—well, Henry would get drunk and William would watch—and they'd gamble and they'd go to strip clubs, fancy ones and seedy ones, until they lost all of Henry's money, and they'd get the most expensive rooftop hotel room they could afford and they'd utterly destroy it. Fuck Mike. William was better off without him.

"F-fuck you Mike!" he yelled into the darkness.

The door clicked unlocked and creaked open. Two flashlight beams appeared on the wall by William. He heard the sound of bags of fabric and metal scraping on the doorframe, then the door shut and locked again.

"Sorry we're late." It was Mike. "You swearing at me in here, Dad?"

"N-no, Mike, of course not!" William tried to sit up, but it was still too early. "I-I was just worried. T-that's all."

"Charlie, I'll get the tables out of the way, if you bring the bags through here," Mike said.

"Got it," said Charlie.

Mike jogged up the hallway and pushed the tables to the side with a loud screech.

"Can you walk yet?" he asked.

"N-not yet," answered William. "W-what time is it?"

Mike checked his phone. "Almost nine."

"Daytime mode shuts off at n-nine," he said.

Mike finished pushing the tables out of the way. "Great," he huffed. "We've gotta get a move on, then."

"W-What do you mean?"

Charlie approached with two duffel bags and set them beside William. From one, she pulled out chains. From the other, she pulled out thick canvas. William looked up at Mike. The mask didn't show emotion very well with the safety locks on, but Mike read it perfectly.

"It's just a precaution, Dad," he explained, unrolling one of the pieces of canvas. "Just until we get you home."

He carefully took William's hand and lifted it into the light. The fingers jerked, Mike jumped and William apologized. With an uncertain glance down at his father, Mike wrapped up the hand with the canvas, then did the same to the other. Charlie helped him with the chains. No one talked while they secured him. Mike and Charlie looked as uncomfortable chaining William up as he was being chained up. It stung a little that they didn't trust him, but he couldn't blame them. And like Mike said, it was just a precaution. Once they were home and they saw that he wasn't going to hurt anyone, they'd laugh about the whole thing, just like they'd laugh about thinking they had to keep him in the garage. They would give him his own room soon and he would be part of the family. When the holidays came around, they'd take a picture in front of the Christmas tree and send it to their relatives. Freddy's would just be a distant memory. William would still be dead and rotting, but everyone had their little problems.

Nine o'clock came and the motor in William's chest whirred to life. He bolted upright and his eyes and chest cavity glowed green like traffic lights.

"DAY MODE: OFF," Springbonnie said in a cartoonishly goofy voice, his mouth and head moving to simulate speech. "NIGHT MODE: ON."

The glowing stopped and the animatronic's shell slumped, succumbing to how William wanted to sit. He moved his ears up and down, blinked his mechanical eyelids, and rolled his shoulders with a heavy sigh. He looked around and saw that Mike and Charlie were leaning away from him with their arms halfway up to protect their faces.

"S-sorry you had to see that," William said, embarrassed. "I wish I had chosen a d-different voice for Springbonnie. I'm, uh, I'm ready to go now."

"I always liked it," said Mike, still recovering. "You know, as a kid. It's a very friendly voice."

William couldn't tell if Mike was complementing him or making fun of him; either way, they were talking like families were supposed to talk. He smiled, looking worried and a little drunk: the only smile the Springbonnie suit was capable of.

"I-I'm glad you think so b-because you'll be hearing a lot of it until we figure out how to t-turn it off. Every day at six AM and nine PM."

"I look forward to it," laughed Mike.

William glanced over at Charlie, who wasn't smiling. The way her jaw clenched reminded him of Henry. She had inherited her father's skepticism, which would have been great in any context but this one. He was pretty confident he could convince Mike that he didn't mean any harm, but Charlie may be harder to persuade. The challenge worried William and he took a deep breath to steady himself—never mind that his lungs were in ribbons and couldn't hold air anymore. He would win her over eventually. Hopefully. He had to.

"Do you need help standing, Dad?" asked Mike.

"N-no, I've got it," said William quickly. He leaned forward and tried to scrape his feet underneath him, but they were clunky and didn't respond very well because of the rust and the wrench attack all those years ago.

"On second thought," he said. "Could you…?"

"Of course," said Mike. He reached towards William's arm but hesitated, looking for the best place to support him. "Charlie, could you take the other side? I think under the arms would probably be the most helpful."

He carefully put his hand underneath the sticky hair of the suit's bicep. Charlie crouched opposite of Mike and did the same. William looked down at the suit, recognizing for the first time in a long time just how moldy and awful it was.

"S-sorry the suit is so gross," he muttered.

"Don't worry about it, Dad."

Together, Mike and Charlie were able to get William to his feet and down the hall. He walked arm in arm with them, towards the exit, a prisoner about to be free. He looked at the murals as they passed, the rooms, the piles of trash. William knew all of it by heart. How many nights had he roamed these halls, picked through the leftover props, looking for weapons or tools or just something to entertain himself with. He had found pieces of old animatronics: Foxy's eyes, one of Bonnie's ears, Chica's arm, the snout from an old version of Freddy. He took them apart and put them back together, took them apart and combined them into a new animatronic. But there was no motherboard and no power, so the eyes never turned on and the mouth never said anything. It had been nice to see some semblance of a face, though, after the place was shut down. He had set his creation in the chair in the old office, so he had something to visit every night. It got old, though. After a while, he couldn't stand to see that almost-living creature grinning at him anymore, so he tore it into tiny pieces and scattered them around the building. He never went back to find them, preferring to spend his time lingering by the front door or in the large dining room.

But now, he felt bad for how he had treated his and Henry's creations. They had made them all with such delight. Even dead, they deserved better.

They reached the door and Mike let go with one hand in order to unlock it. He gripped the handle tight and looked up at William.

"You doing okay?" he asked.

William's skeleton was shaking and he couldn't remember how to manipulate the wires in his voicebox. He nodded quickly, eyes glued to the door, the last thing keeping him back. Mike nodded once in approval, took a deep breath, and pulled the door open.

The fresh air blew into William's body, up into the suit, hugging his bones, drying the grimy moisture from last night and from many other nights. It blew up through the bottom of his mask, up through the holes in the roof of his mouth behind his eyes, and the cable in his brain went crazy. Sights—smells—cold!—cars—cigarette smoke—street lamps—the moon—mourning doves—hamburger grease—wet dirt—cooling asphalt… His eyes flickered on and off, his body froze up and for one horrible moment, he couldn't make himself step out into it. He was afraid that if he tried, whatever was holding him together would let go and he would collapse into a pile of bones and sprockets and sinews.

"Dad, what's wrong?" asked Mike.

"N-n-nothing," he said. "I'm just…" He buzzed a laugh. "Denver's gotten so b-big!"

Mike smiled and this time Charlie did too.

"It's a nice night to see it," said Charlie. "It's been cold and rainy lately. Finally, the clouds have given us a little break."

"I c-can't wait to see the clouds when they come back," William said.

With unsteady legs, William stepped carefully over the threshold and into the parking lot. He waited for a few seconds, but his body stayed in tact. He looked back into the mouth of the old building. It seemed so small, so fragile. He'd never see it again, and he was happy but strangely also a little sad.

Mike and Charlie helped William to the only car in the parking lot: a silver SUV. It had bumper stickers on the back, and one window decal that said "Baby on Board." Must have been left over from when Samuel was younger.

"I think he'll fit," said Mike. "Though the roof might be too low. He might have to lie down."

"That would probably be best anyway," answered Charlie as she unlocked the doors.

With great difficulty, William climbed into the back seat and they got the door closed. He sat longways with his back against the window. He noticed that one of the kids had stuck super hero and smiley face stickers all over one of the windows. He shifted around to look at the window behind his head and saw that there were dinosaurs and fish stickers all over it, and on the back of the driver's seat as well. He wondered which side was whose. When William's kids were young, everyone had their designated spot in the back seat. Mike always sat up front because he was the oldest, but Elizabeth always sat on the right and George on the left. They hadn't stuck stickers to the windows, but when the windows fogged up, William could see all the finger drawings they had made, even though he repeatedly told them not to because it made the windows greasy. Actually, come to think of it, Michael had stuck stickers to the window, when he was really little. Freddy Fazbear stickers, if William remembered correctly. Kids loved stickers. Why had he and Henry replace stickers with pencils at the prize counter? Kids didn't want pencils.

Charlie climbed into the driver's seat and Michael into the passenger's. As Charlie started the car, Mike turned around to look at William.

"Are you doing all right?" he asked with a cautious smile.

"I-I'm good," said William nervously. He still felt like part of him was tethered to the building and he was worried about getting too far away from it, as though his metal frame had a rope around it and, once the car took off, the rope would go taut and yank it out of him. This was all too much, too fast, but he needed to be okay. Charlie glanced at him in the review mirror. "I-I'll be fine," he amended, "Not crazy about c-cars…"

"We'll be home soon," Mike assured him. "Twenty minutes, tops."

"O-okay…"

The car pulled out onto the road and Mike looked forward again, still sitting slightly sideways so he could have his arm over the back of the seat. William watched the street lights whiz by and shifted uncomfortably in his restraints. He gazed at Mike for most of the drive, except when Mike looked back to check on him. Then he looked at his lap. He was excited to be going home, but he couldn't help feeling that Mike and Charlie saw him less as a family member and more as a dangerous animal they needed to contain and supervise. That was fair, he thought, but he'd prove their misgivings wrong. But right now, tied up in the back of a dark car, he didn't feel like he had enough charisma in him to change their minds. He didn't know if he could ever have that much charisma.

In no time at all, the car pulled into a quiet neighborhood with well-manicured lawns. William sat up and looked out the window. The houses were two-stories with new weather-proof paneling, front and back yards and sidewalks. They drove into a cul de sac and parked in front of one of the houses, a bright blue one with hanging flower baskets by the front door and a basketball hoop set up on the sidewalk out front. William had never been able to give his own children this nice of a place to live, and he was proud of what Mike had accomplished in spite of a less-than-ideal childhood.

Charlie turned the car off and unbuckled her seatbelt in a hurry. Mike reached for her hand comfortingly and she sighed. She covered his hand with her own for a long moment.

"A-are the kids in bed already?" William ventured.

"They're with a babysitter," Charlie replied quietly. She looked back at him and gave him a half-hearted smile. "We figured it was easier this way."

"O-of course," William agreed eagerly. "Whatever you t-think is best. I'm-I'm all for it."

Slowly and carefully, they got William out of the car and walked him up the steps. Charlie unlocked the front door and they helped him into the house. William hadn't been in such a nice house for a very long time. It was quiet but a different kind of quiet than the dusty silence of Fazbear's. They were standing in an entryway with wood floors that led into a carpeted den ahead. Miniature coats hung from hooks by the door, and small tennis shoes were pushed up against the wall. There were dishes in the sink from earlier in the day. There were blankets of various colors piled sloppily on the sofa in the den. A basketball sat against one wall, a pink scooter against another. There were empty pudding cups and spoons on the kitchen table, and magazines and a pile of mail on the counter next to an essay with a big red B written on the front of it.

If William had to sum up Michael and Charlie's house in one word, he would describe it as: living. The house was vibrant and alive, even when no one was home. Life oozed from the walls in colorful wallpaper and bubbled up from the sink in crumbs and sticky spoons. This was a place where the parents loved their children and the children loved them back. William couldn't believe he had been permitted into a house like this.

"You okay, Dad?" asked Mike, as though it was his new mantra.

"I'm fine," William replied, drinking in the house. "W-where is the garage?"

"Right through the kitchen," said Mike, guiding him around the counter.

William walked slowly, doing his best not to scratch the wood floor. Mike opened a small side-door and turned on the light. The garage was clean and spacious and a fuzzy cream-colored rug covered the concrete floor. All the tools and outdoor equipment that might have been hanging on the walls or pushed into corners had been removed. A futon had been set up in a corner of the room, fully made with sheets, blankets and pillows. Next to it was a small table with a lamp and a few books. On the other wall was a soft living room chair, a desk, and a small bookshelf full of books and paper and drawing supplies. On the desk sat what looked like a small, flat TV. Against the garage door was a ping pong table, which was probably the only thing that had been in the garage originally. William stepped down the short stairs into the garage, dumbfounded. He stood in the center of the room and looked around. They had even put paintings up on the walls.

"I know it's not much, but we tried to make it nice," said Mike.

William shook his head in disbelief. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of this. He almost wanted them to remove it all and give him a dark and dirty garage again, but even that still seemed too luxurious.

"What're you thinking, Dad?" Mike prodded.

"I'm t-thinking I'm not sure where you learned to be so k-kind," William replied. He looked at Charlie. "B-both of you. Th-thank you."

Mike smiled, relieved, and Charlie let out a held breath.

William glanced at the bookshelf. "Y-you brought me books?" he said.

"Yeah," said Mike, walking over to it with him. He pulled out a couple. "I remember you liked sci-fi, so I put some of my favorite ones here. And I added a bunch of mystery and suspense, and a couple romances, if that's your thing, I don't know." He leaned over the desk and switched the TV screen on. "You can watch TV here. There's normal channels and we also have Apple TV."

"Apple, l-like the computer?" asked William.

Mike and Charlie glanced at each other. "Um," said Mike, "Think of it as more TV channels. Or like video cassettes, but stored in TV channels."

"Okay…"

Mike picked up the remote and flipped through the colorful channels on the screen. Technology sure had advanced a lot, thought William.

"There's also a channel for audio books, books on tape," said Mike. "For during the day while we are trying to figure out how to turn off the daytime settings on your suit."

"Appreciated," said William.

Mike turned off the TV and went over to the bed.

"I don't know if you sleep anymore, but we set this up for you anyway," he said, sitting down on the futon. "It's actually pretty comfy. And," he motioned to the nightstand, "more books, obviously."

William carefully sat down on the futon next to Mike. It creaked a little, but he thought he did pretty well, considering his hands were still bound and he couldn't use them to brace himself. He didn't have a sense of touch anymore, so he didn't know if it was actually comfortable or not, but it seemed like it would be. Mike scooted away from him a little.

"I-It's very nice," said William. "Thank you."

"Of course," Mike replied.

Charlie stood in the doorway of the garage with her arms crossed uncomfortably. She was just watching them, but it also looked like she was guarding the entrance to the house. She watched William closely, searching for any sign that having him in their home was a mistake.

"I-is it okay to take these off now?" asked William, holding up his arms.

Mike glanced at Charlie and Charlie descended into the garage with the key to the lock on the chains.

"If we take these off, you need to promise to stay in the garage," said Charlie. "I mean it. Don't go inside the house or outside into the neighborhood. Even if the door is left unlocked, which it won't be. Otherwise, you'll go right back to Fazbear's. Understood?"

"I-I won't," said William. "I promise. T-this place you've set up is so nice, w-why would I go a-anywhere else?"

Charlie made an unconvinced noise in her throat, but even so, she unlocked the chains and she and Mike unwrapped Williams arms. William flexed his joints and somewhere deep in the machinery, his shoulders popped.

"I mean it," Charlie repeated, "One time and you're out."

"I-I got it," replied William, annoyed, "I'll stay in the garage unless you give me permission to c-come inside."

"You better," Charlie said threateningly. She glanced at Mike. "Are you okay watching him for a little bit? I need to go pick up Sammy and Beth."

William's ears perked up at the names of his grandchildren and he looked up, hopeful.

"Yeah, we're alright," said Mike. "He seems stable at the moment," he added quietly.

"E-Elizabeth and S-Samuel are coming back tonight?" William asked eagerly. "C-can I see them?"

"No," said Charlie sternly. William's shoulders sank. "Not tonight," she amended, softer. "Maybe later, but not yet."

"We need to fix up your suit a little first, Dad," added Mike, trying to be helpful. "Make you a bit more…family friendly. Don't want to give Sammy nightmares."

"Nightmares? I am family friendly," protested William. "W-what's more family friendly than a b-bunny rabbit?"

Mike gave him a bewildered look. "Are you serious?"

"Not tonight," said Charlie. She looked like she wanted to add something else, but couldn't think of what else to say. So she said "Not tonight," again and that was that. She turned awkwardly, went into the kitchen and closed the door.

"I-I just wanted to see my g-grandkids," William muttered.

"You can see why that's a tall order, right?" asked Michael.

"Because of the suit?"

"Because of the murders, Dad."

"What? But I-I'd never hurt them! They're my family!" William protested. He couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "You know that, don't you Mike? That I'd never hurt your kids?"

"No," said Michael unhappily. "I don't, and that's the problem. I want to trust you, but I…can't."

"Oh." William looked down at his bloody robotic hands. "Well, I-I…I understand, I guess. W-what can I do to make you and Charlie trust me?"

"Nothing," Mike replied. "Just…be normal. Relax. It's going to take time."

"Oh. O-okay." William didn't know if he knew how to act "normal," but he had to try. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Dad," said Mike. They sat in silence for a long moment, staring into the room. "D-do you want to watch some TV?" he offered.

William stared wistfully at the door that led into the kitchen . How long would it take for Mike and Charlie to believe him that he would never hurt his family? Even his own kids' deaths had been accidents. He had never laid a finger on them. The murders of the other children were awful and he shouldn't have done it, but those had been other people's kids. Not his. Even in the midst of his killing spree, the thought had never even crossed his mind to hurt his own kids. Never.

"Okay," he said.

Michael stood up and dragged the desk so that it faced the bed. He sat back down and turned the TV on.

"Want to watch The Immortal and the Restless?" asked Mike.

William smiled. "What? T-that's still running?"

"No, but I can pull up reruns."

William leaned back against the wall. "Oh, g-go on then," he said.

Mike flipped through the episodes on the TV for a minute. Fifteen seasons! thought William. Good god. Last time he saw it, it was on season three. Going by the pictures and descriptions, it seemed like the story had gotten pretty convoluted, and he didn't recognize any of the characters anymore. Michael scrolled back to the two-part season one finale and read the description.

"This is a good one," Mike said, almost to himself.

"It was," William agreed.

Mike selected it and leaned back against the wall. The opening credits began to roll, way more vibrant than they had been on William's old TV from the 80s. The characters showed up on screen. The season finale was the birth of Vlad's son, William remembered. It's hard to believe they went an entire season without introducing the baby. The couple couldn't conceive and they tried everything they could to fix it, until they just gave up. William remembered how surprising the finale was when he first saw it. He thought it was going to be a show about a vampire and his human wife, accepting the fact that they would never have a family. But all of a sudden, as if by a miracle, Clara was pregnant, and Vlad was a father, ironically after he had finally realized he didn't want to be one. The season one finale started the best story arc of the entire series, as far as William had seen. The family dynamics in that TV show brought up things in William's own heart that he didn't realize he hadn't dealt with. Odd that a soap opera could do that.

When it was revealed that the test came back positive, William snuck a glance at Mike to see his reaction. There was none. Mike had seen the episode before, of course. He looked worried, preoccupied. William looked back at the screen and scolded Vlad in his mind. Vlad was going to do something extremely stupid in the next few episodes, but no amount of advice from William could stop him. His fate was sealed and as many times as William watched these episodes, Vlad always ended up doing the same thing. But William wasn't Vlad.

* * *

A/N: "I'd never hurt MY kids, just other people's kids," says William, bewildered that Mike still doesn't trust him.

I kind of wish _The Immortal and the Restless_ was a real TV show. I picture it as a low-budget soap opera that was accidentally brilliant.


	4. Blueberry Pancakes

A/N: TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter: Mention of suicide and implied self harm. Also, a bit more gore because they're opening up the suit.

To Dinosaur: Thank you! I didn't actually animate the Handplates one, but I wish I had. (you a fan of Handplates as well? :) )

A correction from last chapter: Daytime Mode kicks in at 6am, not 8am.

* * *

"NIGHT MODE: OFF. —A-HYUCK!— DAY MODE: ON."

Michael bolted awake, panicked, thinking that he was in Freddy's and there was a lethal animatronic on the loose. He slowly realized that he was lying on the futon in the garage and he had been covered up with a blanket. The table and TV were still facing the bed but the TV was off. And, most importantly of all, his father was no longer sitting beside him.

"S-sorrrry."

Michael looked up and saw Springtrap sitting motionless in the arm chair by the bookshelf. He had an open book on his lap and a small stack of them on the floor. His eyes were glowing pinpricks of white light in the shadows. His smiling jaw hung open, exposing William's dead, human mouth. Mike hadn't realized last night just how tired he was. It occurred to him how dangerous it was that he had fallen asleep in the garage. William could have snapped and killed him. But he didn't, and that was something.

"I-I-I-I know it's l-loud," said William.

"It's fine, Dad," said Michael, still groggy from sleep. "We'll try to get that turned off today." He slipped his legs over the side of the bed and stretched. "Have you been up all night?"

"I-I don't s-sleep," he answered. "I'm d-dead." He twitched, testing the programming constraints. "D-d-did you s-sleep okay?" The way he talked this morning sounded like he was tiptoeing, afraid of saying the wrong thing or even of saying the right thing the wrong way.

"Like a log," Mike replied. "Sorry, I meant to keep you company longer than I did. What did you do all night?"

He noticed some pieces of paper that had been crumpled up and left on the floor, and some that had been anxiously shredded into fine ribbons and like an afterthought had been stuffed behind the bookshelf. His father had written lists of words in pencil on the wall near the floor, which was now mostly hidden behind the armchair, but there didn't seem to be any other signs of vandalism and there were no signs that he had tried to escape. Mike reminded himself that, even if his dad was trying to be better, he could expect there to be some damage along the way.

"R-r-read, m-mostly," William replied.

His father had always had an uncommon amount of energy inside him, but it was entirely up to his emotions whether it was spent positively or negatively. When he was happy, he used that energy to create new robotic designs, overhaul old systems, learn new recipes and create new routines he was sure were guaranteed to improve their lives like going on walks as a family after dinner or going out to the movies every month. But when he was unhappy, and he was unhappy often, that energy leeched out of him, seeking something to devour. Michael would come home from school and one of the interior walls in their house would be gone, taken apart by William with a sledgehammer because he had decided that afternoon that removing it would really open up the space. He would buy dinner plates on sale and break them in the backyard. He would pick fights with strangers in the grocery store over the most mundane offenses like cutting in line or blocking the aisle. People would confront him outside in the neighborhood who were sure he had broken the windshields on their cars but just didn't have proof. Sometimes these altercations ended with torn sleeves and gravel embedded into his father's palms. And more and more, William would come in from his outdoor workshop with his hand bleeding and wrapped up in a towel because of another damn springlock failure. He said they were accidents, but Mike believed him less and less.

In the summer before Mike's sophomore year of high school, he found out that his father's destructive tendencies had extended way further than anyone thought was possible. "Not my dad," Mike remembered saying when the police officer came to their door looking for him. "He get's angry sometimes, but he'd never murder someone." But the police officer had pictures, had Henry Miller's suicide note that mentioned William by name, had a list of the names of the victims. And where was his father now, did he have any idea? asked the police officer. But Mike didn't. His dad had left for work that morning, said "I love you." and "Be good." just like every other morning, and he hadn't seen him since. He never saw him again and thought he must have fled the state, perhaps even the country. He heard all the details of the tragedies on the news and was interviewed about them over and over again, as though he knew anything special about them, as though he wasn't finding out about his father's secret life from TV and newspapers along with the rest of America. No one thought to check the suit. William Afton and the Fazbear tragedies had been sealed away to rot in solitude.

Mike heard thumps from inside the house, Beth saying "What was that?" loudly, and the sound of her and Sammy running downstairs.

"Shit," Mike said, vaulting up from the futon. "The kids are up."

William's glowing eyes followed him across the room.

"C-can I see them? I'll b-be g-good. I-I-I won't e-even talk, if…if y-you d-d-don't w-want me to…"

Mike sighed and rubbed his neck in thought. He wanted to assure his father that everything was fine and that of course he could meet his grandkids that morning, but knowing what he did, he just couldn't until William proved he was stable. The writing and the shredded paper made Mike think that his father may be a little further from fine than he let on. But Mike didn't know yet if that level of instability made him dangerous to his grandchildren or not. Only time would tell. After spending a full day with him today, he would be able to get a better grasp of his father's mental state.

"I'll talk with Charlie about maybe seeing them after school today, but I can't promise anything," Mike said. "We need to take things slow. If it turns out that we need to wait, then we'll need to wait, okay?"

William perked up. "O-o-of course! I-I-I- c-can t-take things s-slow. J-just let me know w-what you w-w-want me to do a-and I'll d-do it. A-anything. I-I'm serious."

"I know, Dad," said Mike. He put his hand on the doorknob to the kitchen. "I'll see you in about an hour. Are you going to be okay?"

"I-I-I'll be…okay," William said. "S-see you soon, M-Michael."

Mike stepped into the kitchen, head lowered, and quietly locked the door behind him. When he looked up, he saw that Beth and Sammy were sitting at the kitchen table in their pajamas and Charlie was setting the coffee maker.

"Morning, all," he said, combing his fingers through his hair so he looked a little less frazzled.

"Who's in the garage?" asked Beth. Straight to the point as always. "Mom said to ask you."

Michael glanced at Charlie who shrugged. It seemed funny now that they thought they could keep William a secret from their children for any amount of time. They'd have to let them meet soon or move William somewhere else, because otherwise there would be no way to keep their snoopy kids out of the garage.

"Um," hesitated Mike, gaging how much he should say.

He and Charlie had agreed, back when Beth was just a baby, that they would never lie to their kids about anything. Shield them from some of reality's hard truths, yes, but they would never lie to them. Both of their childhoods had been riddled with lies and misdirection, and it had done nothing but harm them. Mike hadn't forgotten their agreement and he knew Charlie hadn't forgotten either. That made knowing what to tell them about this situation so much harder.

"Well," Mike got two coffee mugs out of the cabinet. "That would be your…Grandpa Will."

"Grandpa?" asked Beth. "I thought all our grandparents were dead."

"Passed away," Mike corrected. "Yes, we did too." He shared a glance with Charlie. "But we just recently found out that Grandpa Will is still kicking. He's, ah, he's going to be staying with us for a little while."

Sammy jumped down from the chair.

"I want to see Grandpa!" he said, running towards the door.

Michael lunged after him and held the door closed.

"Give him time, okay bud?" he said. "He's been through a lot lately and he, um, needs a little time to himself."

Sammy crossed his arms. "Fine," he said and returned unhappily to the table.

"He's not asleep," protested Beth. "I heard him talking."

Charlie stepped in. "You'll get to meet him soon. Don't worry. What do you guys think of pancakes? I'm feeling blueberry pancakes this morning."

Beth and Sammy cheered in unison, Grandpa Will momentarily forgotten. Charlie got the skillet out and pulled out the pancake mix. Mike set the mixing bowl out on the counter and hugged her shoulder supportively. She rubbed his hand.

"Everything's going fine," Mike whispered to her. "We're doing fine."

"Mom, are you making pancakes for Grandpa too?" asked Sammy.

Charlie turned around and smiled but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

"I sure am," she said. "Why don't you and Beth go get ready for school? I'll let you know when they're ready."

"I want to put syrup on Grandpa's pancakes and take them to him," said Sammy.

"He's resting right now and won't be eating them until later," said Mike. "But I'll make sure to let him know that you doctored them for him."

Sammy acted a bit thwarted, but eventually, he and Beth went upstairs to get dressed and brush their teeth.

"I should call out from work," said Charlie.

"Only if you want to," said Mike, "but I'm good here alone today, too. I'm just going to be cleaning up his suit, see if I can patch up some of the holes, and get those mode change announcements turned off. I'll take precautions, but I don't think he'd do anything to me. I fell asleep in the garage last night—"

"You what? I thought you had stayed up all night talking with him. If I'd known—"

"It was dangerous, I know. But the point is, he didn't do anything," said Mike. "In fact, he covered me up with a blanket."

"That doesn't mean he's safe."

"No, but it does mean he's trying, I think."

Charlie poured the batter onto the skillet and watched it cook.

"I believe we did the right thing," she said, "but I still don't feel good about it. What if everything so far has been an act?"

"Then he'll slip up soon," said Mike. "But I don't think he's pretending. My dad was never good at pretending things were fine when they weren't."

"That was more of my dad's specialty," said Charlie.

"I wasn't going to say it."

"No, but it's true. Everyone loved him until the very end. Even me." She piled the pancakes on a plate and unplugged the skillet.

"Speaking of which, when are we going to tell my dad about…"

Charlie handed Mike a plate with two pancakes on it.

"One tragedy at a time, honey," she said.

Mike and Charlie managed to get the kids out to the bus without either of them opening the garage door. They understandably kept asking questions about their mysterious grandfather, but Mike and Charlie were able to answer the easy questions and deflect the harder ones for later. Mike must have said, "You'll get to meet him soon, just not now." at least a dozen times that morning. Charlie decided to take the day off of work after all, concerned with Mike's safety. That was a good idea, thought Mike, even though he didn't feel like he needed help patching up the suit. With William, it was probably better to be safe than sorry. As he supervised his kids as they got ready for school and made sure they didn't sneak off downstairs to the garage, he thought of his father sitting anxiously in the armchair, book still on his paralyzed lap, as he listened to his family talk about him in the kitchen. He hadn't said anything, though, hadn't called for Mike through the door, when he could have. Mike hoped that was a good sign.

Mike and Charlie watched the bus drive away, arms wrapped around each other's waists tighter than normal. They stayed like that until the bus finished picking up all the other children in the neighborhood and turned onto the main road towards the school. They had changed into jeans and t-shirts, clothes that they wouldn't mind throwing out if they got oil or blood on them.

"Are you ready?" asked Charlie.

"No," said Mike. "Are you?"

"No."

"Well, we'd better get to it, then."

Mike took his toolbox out from under the sink and Charlie got the ax out of the garden shed just in case. Like hunters creeping into a den of wolves, Mike and Charlie counted to three and opened the garage door.

William jumped when they walked in.

"W-w-what's the ax f-for?" he asked.

Charlie leaned it against the wall beside the door.

"Just a precaution," she explained. "We're going to try to get your daytime programming turned off today."

"I-I-I would n-never d-d-d-do anything t-to you," said William, offended. "Mike, y-you told her about last night, r-right?"

"Yeah Dad, I did," said Mike. "And like she said, it's just a precaution. We just want to keep everyone safe. You understand, don't you?"

"Y-yes, I understand," said William. He sounded disappointed and a little irritated, but he didn't fight them on it.

"Good," said Mike. "Now, how do we access your suit's control panel?"

"T-through the back of the s-suit," William replied. "Y-you'll need a h-hand crank to o-open the suit a-and my k-keys to open the c-control panel b-box inside."

"I have a screwdriver and a crowbar," said Mike. "Will that work?"

"M-maybe," said William.

With difficulty, Mike and Charlie eased the animatronic facedown onto the floor. Mike felt along the matted hair on the back of the suit for the opening seam. The hair was even worse in the daytime, stuck together with dirt, cobwebs, and old blood. Mike didn't want to touch it, but he had to. Luckily, Mike was most familiar with the springlock suits out of all the animatronics his father had helped design. They were the ones that broke down the most and required the most maintenance. Mike wondered briefly if creating such a dangerous suit to wear, one that could kill you with the slightest malfunction, had been itself one of his father's destructive outlets. Mike finally found the fine seam in the metal shell that ran down the back of the suit. There was a hole to the side of it, designed for a hand crank.

"I found the opening," said Mike. "I'm going to start prying it open, okay Dad?"

"O-o-okaaaay," replied William.

Mike wedged the screwdriver into the seam and began working it loose. The metal suit held firm for a while but eventually, the sides slowly separated. First just a millimeter, then a centimeter, then an inch.

"Charlie, could you hand me the crowbar?"

She did, and he stuck the end of it between the suit's shoulder blades.

"Doing okay, William?" asked Charlie.

"I-I-I'm fine," he replied unconvincingly. "J-j-just be careful, okay M-Mike? Th-these suits are delicate i-instruments and th-they r-r-require a deli—CATE!"

The back of the suit snapped open with a groan of protest. The groan clunked away into silence.

"…d-delicate touch," finished William.

"It's open," said Mike.

"I know. D-do you see the c-control p-panel box? It is about the s-size of a hand."

Mike looked into the suit's cavity and was reminded yet again how dangerous a full springlock failure was. The metal endoskeleton, wires, and other mechanical parts had broken loose from their compressed forms and reassembled to fill the suit. William's body had been crushed, squeezed and torn apart to make way for the stronger material. Because of how long ago he had died, the flesh had largely dried up or been preserved by the chemicals leaking into the suit from the corroded metal and other materials. There wasn't much of William left besides crushed bones, mashed organs, and shreds of his signature purple button up shirt caught in the gears. Mike remembered his father wearing that lavender shirt a lot, back then. His father called it his armor, his good luck. "Something good is going to happen today, Mike," he would say with a smile, ironing it in the kitchen on a school morning as Michael put pop tarts into the toaster. "I can feel it."

"D-do you see the box?" asked William.

Mike did see it. It had been shoved back through William's spine and ribcage. Cables suspended it from the shoulders and sides of the torso. It was tangled up in shredded cotton and pieces of his father, but Mike saw that the tiny red light was still able to blink through it all.

"I see it," he replied. Do I just take the front off?"

"Y-yes," said William, "G-gently. Please be careful not to d-damage the p-panel inside."

"I'll be careful, Dad," said Mike as he slid the screwdriver between his father's ribs.

He pulled bits of fabric out of the way to expose the box. He had to hold it in place with his other hand in order to get the leverage to pry open the top. Michael swore when he got it open and yanked his hands away. Inside the box, constructed over the switches and wires, was a wasp's nest. A large, old wasp crawled out and buzzed lazily to the floor. Charlie ran into the kitchen, came back and trapped it in a glass.

William watched her take the glass outside.

"Th-that explains a lot," William laughed weakly. "F-fucking bees. W-worse than flies, I t-tell you."

"You seem to be taking this all pretty well," said Mike, swallowing down his horror. Gore was one thing, but bugs were another.

"W-well, when you've been dead as l-long as I have, y-you get used to s-s-some things. B-bugs being one of them. I-is the control panel all right?"

Mike tentatively scraped at the paper nest with the screw driver and when he was confident that no more bees were going to pop out of it, he picked it out and set it on the floor. The wires and switches underneath had been pretty well protected, actually, except for the hole in the back where the wasps had gotten in. They had eaten any organic material that may have oozed in and damaged the unit. Lucky but still gross. Charlie returned.

"It looks like it's in pretty good shape," Mike replied. "The nest kept it clean."

"Int-eresting," said William. "O-okay, now if I remember correctly, the daytime mode option s-should be a switch on the left. T-there are a couple b-buttons underneath to s-set the time, b-but you can i-ignore those."

Mike searched the small electric panel with unlabeled controls until he found the switch.

"Got it," said Mike.

"G-good. Now, a-all you have to do is flip the switch."

Mike looked up at Charlie. She glanced back to make sure the ax was within reach. She nodded.

"Okay, Dad," said Mike, "I'm switching it off now."

He flipped the switch. The subtle whirring in the suit turned off and started again. William seized up and bent in half on the floor, eyes and all the bits in his torso backlit.

"DAY MODE: OFF." said Springbonnie for the last time.

William lay still for a moment, making sure everything was all right. He flexed his fingers, moved his arms, and slowly sat up.

"Th-that's much better." He buzzed a sigh. "Thank you."

William reached his arm around back, carefully closed the control panel, and pushed his sides back together with a click. He closed himself up with the ease of a skilled mechanic.

"I-I haven't been able to move during the day since…well, since this h-happened to me."

"What did you do to pass the time during the day before?" asked Mike.

"Pretty much what you found me doing. P-pretending I was outside." He lowered his ears slightly, embarrassed. Mike and Charlie exchanged a look. "W-well, um, what are we going to do now?" he asked.

"We thought we'd get your suit cleaned up," answered Charlie. "Wash the fur and see if we can't patch up some of the holes."

William smiled and climbed clumsily to his feet. "F-fantastic!" he said.

"I figure we can do that in the bathroom," said Charlie. Her eyes drifted to the writing behind the chair and she frowned. William didn't notice.

"I get to come inside the house?" he asked, hopeful.

"Yeah," Charlie said. "For a little bit."

They led him into the kitchen and Charlie quietly grabbed the ax. His father was acting much more comfortable than he was this morning, but Michael could tell he was actually less comfortable. He was putting on his other mask, his kind and agreeable restaurant owner mask. But Mike knew his father well enough to know that, underneath, his brain was screaming with anxiety. The energy was building up inside again and Mike worried about how it would manifest. He didn't know if talking to William about it would be helpful or just make it worse. He might bring it up a little later, when William didn't feel like he had to perform for Charlie.

The stairs were just barely large enough for the animatronic to fit through. Mike and Charlie helped him climb the stairs and into the bathroom. Charlie turned on the tub and Mike pushed the kids' toothbrushes and drinking cups off to the side so they wouldn't get dirty. William watched him.

"T-they seem like good kids," said William. "From what I heard."

"They're great," said Mike. "You'll get to meet them soon."

"Great," said William. "I-I look forward to it."

"Sammy made a plate of pancakes for you this morning," Mike added as he grabbed shampoo and a towel. "He said to make sure to tell you they were from him."

William looked delighted. "W-where are they?"

"In the fridge. He really went all out. Syrup and strawberries and sprinkles in the shape of a smiley face. He was almost late to the bus because of it."

"Oh?" William said, smiling. "R-really?"

"Yeah. Now hold still, Dad, I'm going to suds up your face first."

Mike gently worked the shampoo into William's sticky artificial fur, careful to make sure it didn't get into any of the holes. He didn't want William's body to rot any more than it already had. The soap suds turned a yellowish brown first and then quickly turned to red. Charlie handed him a wet wash cloth to wash the soap off, and when it was full of dirt and blood, she handed him another and set to rinsing out the first. It took a few cycles of this before the hair began to look like the soft yellow fluff that Mike remembered as a child. William couldn't stand the humiliation of letting his son and daughter-in-law wash him anymore, so he insisted on sudsing up his front, legs and arms while Mike washed his back and Charlie tackled his ears. Together, they were able to get his suit clean from head to toe.

Charlie handed William a towel and he set to work drying himself off.

"I was thinking we could wrap up his joints and neck with gauze to keep the air off of them," said Charlie. And to hide the exposed bone and sinews from sight, she didn't say. "And we can tie the jaw closed, if he's okay with that."

"I d-don't mind having the jaw wired shut," said William.

"But I'm not sure what to do about the gaping holes in the torso," finished Charlie.

Mike stared at the torso in thought. The holes were huge, especially the one right in the center. It showed exposed bone and guts, and in order to patch it up, they would basically need to replace the whole outer casing. Unless…

He snapped his fingers. "I got it," he said jumping up.

He went into the bedroom and opened up the closet. He flipped through the hanging clothes until he found what he was looking for and pulled it out: a large purple vest. He had received it in last year's white elephant gift exchange at work. It was made of heavy padded silk and closed with one button in the center. It had embroidered swirls and confetti on it. Definitely not his style, but he thought it looked like something his father might be into. Mike returned to the bathroom and held it up.

Charlie was wrapping William's wrist. They both looked up, confused.

"To cover up the holes in his chest," Mike explained.

"Isn't that the vest I gave you?" asked Charlie.

Mike's heart stopped. "I thought I got it in a gift exchange at work," he said.

Charlie relented with a smile. "You did." She finished wrapping William's wrist and cut the gauze. "I'm just messing with you."

Mike laughed and let out a sigh. "You got me," he said. "You got me good."

"Y-you looked so worried," chuckled William, offering his other wrist for Charlie to wrap. "It's q-quite a steal to get something like that in a gift exchange. M-may I see it?"

Mike handed him the vest. William held it up, admiring the embroidery.

"It's b-beautiful," he said. "And you're sure it's o-okay if I wear it? My suit will probably stain it."

"If it fits you, it's yours," answered Mike.

William leaned forward and Charlie helped him slip his arms through the holes. The vest had been way too big on Mike, but it fit the Springbonnie suit perfectly. William fastened the button and stood up to face the mirror. He straightened it across his shoulders and pulled at the bottom hem to get the wrinkles out. Mike remembered his father doing that with suit jackets before interviews or big events at the restaurants, his hair slicked back with gel and his chin patted with strong aftershave, worried that he didn't look professional enough.

"It looks nice," said Mike. "Doesn't it, Charlie?"

"Yeah, it looks great," agreed Charlie.

"What do you think?" asked Mike.

William pulled the vest closed. "It definitely covers all the holes," he said, turning to view it from the side, "but do you think it looks strange over the fur? M-maybe it should go over another shirt, but then that would look weird with the suit too, wouldn't it?"

"It looks fine over the fur," Mike assured him. "It's like Freddie's hat or Chica's bib. It's just an accent."

William turned to the other side, then faced the mirror head on. "O-okay," he said, "if you say so." He smoothed the fur between his ears back and fluffed up the fur on his cheeks to make himself look more friendly.

"You look nice, Dad," said Mike. William smiled at him in the mirror.

They heard the squeal of brakes outside and the whoosh of a metal door sliding open.

"Oh no, is it three already?" Charlie looked at her watch.

Mike pulled out his phone. Sure enough, it was three o'clock on the dot and that was Beth and Sammy's school bus dropping them off.

"Come on," said Mike, grabbing his father's arm. "We need to get you back to the garage before they come inside."

"W-what?" asked William, shocked as Mike led him down the stairs. "W-why? The suit is clean now, all the holes are patched up or covered, the daytime programming has been turned off, why do I still have to wait?"

"We haven't explained to them yet that you're in the state you're in," said Mike.

"What state?"

"Dead and possessing a rabbit suit!"

"Get in the garage, William," said Charlie, holding up the ax. William ignored her.

"Well, I'll explain it to them when I meet them," he said, digging in his heels and grabbing the wall in the entryway.

Michael pushed him harder towards the kitchen. "Not yet, Dad. You don't want their first impression of you to be a seven-foot rabbit costume looming over them when they come in."

William let go of the wall and walked haltingly to the kitchen. Charlie went into the entryway.

"Is he going, Mike?" she called. "Is he going in the garage willingly?"

"Yeah," Michael called back with a hand on William's arm. "He's going. Aren't you, Dad?"

William gave him a hurt look, then looked towards the entryway.

"I-I'm going, Michael," he relented, opening the garage door. "Though you _did_ promise."

The front door opened and Charlie greeted the kids as they came inside.

"Why are you home, Mom?" asked Beth.

"Your dad and I had a few things we had to do," Charlie explained quickly. "How was school?"

"Quick, Dad," said Mike. William had his hand on the doorknob and the door was open, but he wasn't moving. He was staring back at the entryway and thinking so hard that Mike could almost hear the gears turning. "You gotta go in the garage for now. I promise, you'll get to see them soon."

Springtrap's features hardened and he glared down at Mike.

"That's what you said last night," he said and closed the door.

Mike grabbed his arm tighter. "Dad, what're you—" But it was no use. His father was too strong in the suit. William yanked his arm free and strode towards the entryway. Mike ran after him. "Charlie heads up!"

William popped up in the entryway, holding his arms out, all smiles.

"Hi, Sammy! Hi, Beth!" he thundered.

Sammy and Beth screamed and hid behind Charlie. Sammy started crying and Beth demanded over and over what that thing was and how did it get in the house. Charlie held her children close, protectively. Michael ran to stand between William and his family.

"Get back, Dad," he commanded. "Can't you see you're scaring them? What on earth are you thinking?"

William twitched and his eyes flickered on and off. Michael didn't know what that meant, but he knew it meant something was happening. William looked angry at first, but then the expression turned back into the overly-friendly mascot mask.

"Don't be afraid, kids!" he knelt and held his hands out. "I'm just a big old bunny rabbit! I'm your grandpa!"

Michael moved to stand in his way. He could see the ax by the stairs. Too far away to reach right now, but if it came to it, he could lunge and grab it. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to do that to his father, and he definitely didn't want his children to see that.

"Please," said Mike more gently. "Too much, too soon."

William looked from Mike to Charlie to his grandchildren hiding against the door, tears streaming down their faces. He slowly lowered his arms.

"B-but I'm their grandpa…"

"Come on, Dad," said Mike holding out his hand. "We'll try again a little later, okay?"

William glanced at Beth and Sammy once more, then put his hand in Mike's.

"Okay," he agreed, brokenhearted.

Mike helped him to his feet and together, they went to the garage. He heard Charlie comforting the crying kids, apologizing and explaining who that was and assuring them that they weren't in any danger, he just came off as loud and excited sometimes.

William walked into the garage and stopped, facing the far wall. His arms hung limply at his sides.

"You okay, Dad?" Mike ventured.

William didn't answer, didn't look at him. Even though the scene wasn't his fault, Mike still felt terrible.

"Don't worry," Mike said. "They'll come around. You just surprised them is all."

"I'm a monster."

"Dad…"

"I destroyed everything in my life and now, even with a chance to start over, I've destroyed it again."

"You just scared them," said Mike. "Charlie and I will talk to them and then we'll try again later. They're smart kids. They'll see you didn't mean anything by it."

"I thought I'd be able to stop being so aggressive if I just tried. Why can't I just stop? Why do I get carried away so easily? What's wrong with me, Michael?"

Michael smoothed his hair back in thought. "I don't know," he confessed, "Probably some of the stuff that's wrong with me. You probably ought to get some therapy or something."

William turned to face him. "Therapy?"

"It's helped me a lot," Mike said with a shrug. "Most people these days need therapy. It's nothing special."

"Oh," said William looking at the floor. "Well, I-I'll think about it."

"Please do," said Mike. "We could arrange some kind of house call. My therapist might be willing to do that. He's pretty open-minded."

"I'll think about it," repeated William.

Mike nodded silently for a while. "I gotta go make sure the kids are alright," he said. "I'll be back soon and if they're up for it, we can try meeting them later today, okay?"

"Okay, Mike."

"Good," said Mike. "And thank you."

"For not killing your children?" added William sullenly.

"No, thank you for trying so hard to be better," said Mike. "You've always done your best no matter the situation and I've always admired that about you."

William looked up at Mike and his face softened a little. "Oh."

"Don't worry, Dad," said Mike as he went back into the kitchen. "We'll get this worked out."

* * *

A/N: Neither William nor his grandkids like to be told to wait. It's something they have in common.

Did you catch the little nod to Glitchtrap I put in there? The opportunity arose and I couldn't help myself. :3

Yes, Henry's dead, but don't worry! That doesn't mean he isn't a plot point. I have plans for him, just not in the modern chronology of the story. Willy wouldn't let go of him that easily.

I originally considered having Mike and Charlie remove the dead body from the suit, but then I thought: 1) That would be extremely difficult, and 2) They don't know what's keeping his soul in the suit and removing the body might break the attachment. I guess letting him pass on would have been the kinder thing to do, but he'd probably just find a way to come back as usual. He'd probably just haunt their house.


	5. Dr Henry Miller

A/N: Just when I think Henry isn't going to be in the story, BAM! he pops up.

Note: This Henry Miller is heavily influenced by Dayshift at Freddy's and was very much involved in the missing kids incident. He's not the kindly inventor from the novels, as much as I like that version of him.

TW: Mention of suicide in this chapter, as well.

* * *

"Don't worry, Dad. We'll get this worked out."

The door locked and Michael walked away out of earshot. William sank haltingly into the arm chair, glowing eyes staring at the kitchen door, waiting for his son to return and tell him that everything was okay and that he could come back inside and try again, but he didn't. No one did.

The light coming in the tall garage windows turned golden and then faded away to dark and because William didn't turn the light on, the garage went completely dark around him. He thought about knocking on the door and asking for a status update, but Mike wanted him to give them space, so William held back.

Children were always scared of animatronics at first, he thought, but something about the tears running down the faces of his grandchildren sparked an old set of memories. Tiny faces twisted in fear, trapped in a dark back room. Lured inside by the promise of cake or puppies or a secret show just for them. It was a game to William, to see how ridiculous a claim he could fabricate and still get children to believe him, to follow him. It was a game to see how many he could get rid of without anyone noticing and even though he knew it was wrong, part of him enjoyed it. The children had been necessary for his and Henry's research, but for William, it had almost become a hobby.

For Henry, it was just business: a project that he and William would complete together. Like copper wires wound tight around each other inside a power cord, William and Henry had always been a unit. Like twins, it had never made sense to have one without the other. Even when they were both married to their respective spouses, they had been inseparable friends, spending more time with each other than with their families. When stronger feelings for Henry began to grow in William's chest, he both cherished and despised them, afraid of what they might mean. But when their wives left them, he knew it was his chance. It was destiny. They were one body, meant to be together forever. Henry was the brain and nerves; William was the fists, the teeth. In Henry's name he killed and in Henry's name he died.

With Henry's hands on William's shoulders, with his mouth close to his ear whispering encouragement and praise, the blood on William's hands didn't seem so dark. They were making crucial scientific discoveries and science required sacrifices. Life required death and future generations would thank them. Finally, William had a friend, a partner, a purpose. "I don't think you're broken, Willy," said those cinnamon whispers in his ear. "Life is made up of creation and destruction. I am the creation, you are the destruction. We complete each other." It had been a poetic way to think of the deaths.

When William pulled off another successful murder, he felt a rush of satisfaction unlike anything he had felt before. A kind of feral victory that wasn't concerned with William's social presentation or problematic mannerisms. Nature didn't care how well spoken he was or if he liked or disliked the correct things; it only cared if he won or lost, and he won, again and again. As they opened up the dead bodies to extract remnant, to test remnant, to save the world for future generations of undying children, Henry would pat him on the shoulder, kiss him briefly on the cheek and say, "Well done, Willy. Well done." William lived for that hand on his shoulder; he killed for that kiss.

Henry brought the sun with him; he had a presence that put life back into alphabetical order. He was sensical and good and always right and William missed him terribly. The ghosts of their victims began coming after William and the guilt and realization began to settle in. Public suspicion began pointing towards Freddy's and Henry said they needed a brief hiatus, to lie low and let the trail go cold before continuing with their research. But if after that, if Henry had said they needed five, fifty, or a hundred more children, William would have produced them without a second thought. Because Henry was Henry, who had every step of their path to greatness plotted and planned. And William was William, who forgot every week what day Elizabeth had dance practice.

But their hiatus had never concluded. Two weeks in, he had been working late and the ghosts of the five children had attacked him, the ghosts that had been possessing the other animatronics for the last year. Even after destroying their vessels, they were still there and they followed him everywhere. That night, when he was alone in his office at Freddy's, drowning in paperwork, they approached him again. The miasma in the room was thick as resin. He gasped for breath through it, but he felt it infecting his body and he knew that if he didn't get out soon, they would kill him. He called Henry but Henry didn't pick up. He didn't know what else to do, so he ran out of his office to the safe room, his oasis. He didn't know why, but the animatronics seemed to function as a barrier for the spirits, keeping them inside until William had destroyed the suits. Maybe his Springbonnie suit would keep them out, keep him safe.

William hurriedly put it on with one eye on the spirits to make sure they weren't trying to sneak up on him. With shaking hands, he fitted the mask over his head and backed up against the wall. The ghost children had stopped approaching him and were just staring at him with their oozing, black eyes. The robot pieces were cold and wet against his skin, soothing against his hot and frightened breath. It seemed to be working. It was keeping them out. He had won yet again. But wait, he thought, cold and wet? He lifted his arm to feel his shoulder; the fur on it was wet. He looked up at the ceiling and realized rain had been dripping on his suit. That was probably not safe, he thought. He needed to get rid of the ghosts and take off the suit as soon as possible.

Then he had heard the scraping click of the springlocks in the wet shoulder, straining to keep the machinery flat against the inside of the suit. Oh shit, he had thought, and lifted his hands to remove the mask, but it was too late. The shoulder springlock gave out and started a chain reaction. Like dominos, each springlock released faster than the last and he could no longer remove the suit, no matter how much he pulled at it. Everything had been pinned in place and all he could do was cry and beg for help as the endoskeleton reassembled and ripped him apart. He called for Henry, for Mike, even begged the ghosts for help, but no one answered. The ghost children watched the life leak out of him onto the floor and then, when their revenge was complete, they left.

William woke up a while later, but he didn't know how long it had been. The room was dark and dusty and there was a brick wall where the door used to be. But even though his consciousness had reactivated inside the suit, it was scattered and weak and he didn't know how to move the machinery. So he sat and stared at the wall for years until he figured it out, wondering where Henry was and why he hadn't come back and he must be angry with him and that's why he left. He had to find him, to explain what had happened, but in order to do that, he needed to learn how to walk and speak again. By the time he did, the wall had been taken down but the doors and windows had been reinforced. Various people came in and out throughout the day, but Henry was never one of them. William was left alone.

"Willy…"

Henry's voice echoed around him in the garage and William thought he must be hallucinating again, but it was such a welcome hallucination that he willed it to continue. Above the bed, up in the corner by the ceiling, something glowed faintly. William covered one of his eyes experimentally to make sure it wasn't just the glow from his eyes reflecting off of the sheetrock. It wasn't, plus the color was all wrong. His eyes gave off a greenish light when they were glowing brightest, but the glowing in the corner wasn't green at all; it was sunny and warm, almost a pinkish color.

As he watched, the glowing got brighter and the radius grew wider. It blossomed from the wall in two small bursts, then three: two small and one large. They grew brighter and brighter and William worried that this hallucination was much more vivid than his others and the thought crossed his mind that maybe he should tell Mike about it.

"Willy," said Henry's voice again.

"Y-yes?" William answered the voice, leaning forward to get a better look, glass eyes wide so that he wouldn't miss any of the colors or whispers.

The splashes of color coalesced and began to take a form. William sat forward even further, metal fingers clenched on his thighs, not believing what was happening. The colors came together and formed two hands and a head of sandy blond hair poking out of the wall. The head looked up at William with hollow eyes through a set of bifocals he would know anywhere.

"H-Henry?"

William got shakily to his feet and shuffled numbly towards the bed. His brain told him that this had to be a hallucination, but the wound in his chest knew it wasn't. William knew what it felt like when Henry was in a room and what it felt like when he was not. His very presence seemed to charge the air with energy and everyone within range of his charisma relaxed into themselves just a little bit more. He had that special charm of sweet tea on the porch and visiting friends on Sunday afternoons. His robotic designs were more creative than William's and he knew exactly what children would enjoy in a pizzeria. He had kept William and their whole operation grounded, so it was odd that now he was floating above the bed, lifeless and detached.

"Willy," said Henry with a confused frown, "What are you doing here?"

"I-I'm here with Mike and his family." William gestured weakly back towards the kitchen. "But why are you… What happened?"

"Ah. Well. It's a long story but…I died," replied Henry.

"D-died?"

"Yes, unfortunately," said Henry. The ghostly glow had retreated inward a bit and William could better see Henry's features. "Why are you wearing the Springbonnie suit outside of Freddy's?"

"That's also a long story," said William, "But I guess you could say I died too."

Henry had an odd expression, something between confusion and irritation, but after a moment, it passed and he smiled. "Peas in a pod, huh? Even after death."

"Yeah." William heaved a rattling sigh. "God, I've missed you, Henry. The world's a shit hole without you."

"Sorry, William," said Henry. "I meant to come back sooner but the afterlife isn't as straightforward as it used to seem. There are a lot of barriers we didn't notice when we were working on the remnant project."

"Tell me about it," said William, examining his bones through the gaps in the suit's fingers. "For some reason, after I died, I ended up trapped in this damn suit the same way the ghosts of the children were in the other animatronics. I know you said ghosts didn't exist, but, well…"

"I'm more inclined to believe you now," said Henry with a wry smile.

William smiled back, relieved. "Sorry, Henry. I wish I had been wrong—"

"What I don't understand is why, when you died, you ended up in a suit, the children ended up in the suits, but why when I died, even though I made sure I was killed by one of the suits, I wasn't able possess any of them."

William's mind spluttered; it didn't know what to make of this information. "Wh-What?"

"Like I said," continued Henry, looking away suddenly as if he had shared more than he meant to. "It's a long story."

"Well," William looked back at the dark garage door. "I have all night, if you want to start at the beginning."

He returned to the armchair and Henry broke free from the wall and floated down to rest artificially on the bed. It hurt to see Henry in the state he was in. His body was transparent and his eyes were dark holes in his head. The darkness leaked out in thin lines underneath his eyes. It dripped like ink behind his glasses, followed the creases in his face and disappeared into his beard. William wanted to wipe them away and assure him that being deceased wasn't the worst thing in the world because at least they had their minds and at least they had each other again. The front of Henry's plaid shirt was rumpled and torn and William realized that he had a deep gash in his chest.

"I'll tell you in a moment," said Henry, "but first, I want to know what happened to you. Last I saw you, you were taking off from work early to pick Mike up from baseball practice. You disappear for decades and all of a sudden, you're in Charlotte's house. Dead, possessing your old Springbonnie suit."

William fidgeted. He suddenly didn't feel like talking. But Henry had asked him to share, to explain, which is something no one else had asked, not even Michael.

"Do you remember when you said we needed to take a break from our research?" he asked.

Henry nodded. "Of course. My biggest mistake."

"Well, during the break, I stayed late one night…"

William told him everything. There was no point hiding anything from Henry. Henry listened in stunned silence until William's story concluded.

"Willy, my god," he said, "I had no idea. The children possessing the animatronics makes sense because of the remnant experiments, but I don't understand why you ended up back in a suit. We didn't do anything with remnant to Springbonnie, did we?"

"Not that I remember," replied William. "But I don't know. Maybe we did."

"We didn't," insisted Henry.

"Then I don't know," confessed William. "Maybe I'm just an old fashioned haunting then."

It was odd for William to think of himself as a ghost. He still inhabited his body technically, so it had been easy for him to ignore the fact that he was dead and instead see it as some kind of chronic illness. But as he talked to Henry, he realized again, more strongly, that he was in fact a ghost too. Just like the ghost children, except without a villain to destroy. He wondered why he was still here on earth, whether it was eternal punishment, whether he had some unfinished business to attend to, like the children had, or whether it was just a fluke of science and energy because of his and Henry's experiments.

He thought it was probably punishment, a fairly lenient sentence for the atrocities he had committed in life, which made him feel even worse about it. If the dead children had had any say in his punishment, they had been far more merciful than he deserved. If not for him, they surely would have grown up to be incredible leaders, parents, doctors, teachers.

"Perhaps," said Henry. "How did you end up with Charlotte and Mike?"

"Mike found me in the old Freddy's building and he and Charlotte brought me back," said William. "Things were going pretty well too until I fucked it up with their kids."

"You didn't do anything to them did you?"

"No, I just scared them. Accidentally. It's the suit."

"I can't say I blame them," said Henry. "That suit didn't age well."

William brushed the fur on his cheeks back self-consciously. "M-Mike and Charlie helped get it cleaned up," he explained, "I think they did a pretty good job."

Henry examined William's suit. He looked from the broken ears to the holes in the arms, to the wrapped joints. "It must have been in quite a state before if this is what it looks like cleaned up," he said.

"It was."

"I like the vest, though," said Henry. "It looks good on you."

"Thank you," said William. "It was Mike's idea."

"That boy of yours turned out to be really helpful, didn't he?" Henry laughed, then sighed. "Wish I could say the same about my daughter. I've been trying for years to get her attention, but no one in this house seems to have much of a sense for ghosts and they can't see me. But I can't leave, so I've been in a bit of a bind until you showed up."

"C-can't leave?" asked William.

"No," said Henry, "It's called an attachment and when unwelcome, it's a spirit's greatest foe. It's why you can't leave that suit and why I was transported and confined to this house. It's like a net formed by unprocessed emotions: hate, love, grief. I've thought over what could be keeping me here, and the only thing I can think of is Charlotte."

"Charlotte?"

"Yes. Subconsciously, she must be refusing to let me go, which has created an attachment. It's why you're still here too, Willy, no matter what was done to your suit. Our families are keeping us here. They're why I can't possess any of the animatronics."

William looked down at his lap, at the bone and flesh peeking through the fur. He thought of the years spent trapped in Fazbear's. He thought of how Mike and Charlie had almost decided to leave him there. Surely they didn't have any attachments to him that were that strong. If Mike hadn't stumbled upon him the other day, he and Charlie would have gone on living happy lives with their children, only thinking of him once in a while in conjunction with Freddy's. William had always been fused to Freddy's and this fusing with Springbonnie was just the physical representation of that.

When William and Henry were talking about starting up a restaurant with robot animals, it was a means to an end. Henry had built robots and he wanted to research with artificial life, but he didn't want to be tied down by the red tape of an official, government-sanctioned laboratory. He wanted complete creative freedom to do whatever research and build whatever creations he wanted. He had two young children and William had three, all of whom loved the mascot characters that walked around their local amusement park.

They hatched their scheme one day in that very park, sitting on a bench buried in water bottles, snack bags of cheerios, and diaper bags, as they watched their wives wait in line with their children to take a picture with a big moose. "You know, Willy," Henry had said, "If we started a restaurant with things like that moose walking around, we'd be rich." William had laughed. "Rich you say?" he had said. "With how much they would cost to maintain, we'd be lucky to stay above bankruptcy." "We'd be free to do what we wanted," Henry had said. "We could tailor the robots to wear the costumes and test them in the restaurant." William had shaken his head. "It would never work," he said. "Although," He watched their combined family gather around the moose and pose for the picture. "it sure would be fun."

William looked up at Henry. "I-I don't know why you would want to possess an animatronic," he said.

"To achieve immortality of course," answered Henry. "The culmination of all our research. Where did you think it was leading?"

"It's just, being an animatronic myself for the greater part of twenty years…it isn't fun."

"Mine was clean inside," said Henry. "I built it for the express purpose of being inhabited. It would kill me in a way that wasn't too traumatic but traumatic enough to ensure I would remain on earth, and then I would be able to possess my new body. But it didn't work."

"You…you created a robot to kill yourself?"

"Of course." Henry gave him a look like he didn't get what the big deal was. "How else was I supposed to leave my body?"

William folded his hands together, squeezing his fingers until the metal creaked under the strain. The cable in his brain sparked and his eyes flickered.

"Looks like your suit has a short," said Henry. "Want me to look at that?"

"You never mentioned that was your plan," said William ignoring his question.

"Huh?"

"That new robot, the humanlike one," said William louder. His eye beams pierced through Henry's glow. "You didn't tell me I was helping you build your death trap."

"Don't get emotional on me, Willy," said Henry. "If I had told you, you wouldn't have helped me. I figured you wouldn't understand and it sounds like I was right."

"You had everything," said William.

"Come on, William, now you're just delusional." Henry rose from the bed and floated over to William like silk. "This was the only way forward for our research. And it will still work, we've just hit a little hiccup. We'll leave Colorado, go somewhere new, maybe California, and we'll continue. You and me, dead and immortal. Not requiring sleep or food, just routine mechanical maintenance. We can do whatever we want, forever. Doesn't that sound better than dying in prison?"

William thought of Mike, Charlie, and his grandchildren. He remembered how he had felt the first time he set foot in their house. How he felt his nightmares had finally ended, his mistakes had finally run their course and that maybe he had been given permission to move on. But here was Henry, as alive as ever despite being a ghost, breaking that door back open. Suddenly, William had choices again. He could return to Henry and it could be just like it was before, with a few minor physical changes. But in William's mind, they had already accidentally achieved what they had set out to achieve: life preserved artificially in robotic suits. What they hadn't realized back then was that life preserved that way was awful. William wanted to burn their research and forget it ever happened, but he was afraid that, in doing so, he would lose Henry as well. He felt his anxiety rising.

"I'm trying," William said almost to himself.

"Trying?" asked Henry, beginning to sound irritated, "Trying what?"

"Trying to be better for my family," he answered. "I can't lose them again."

"Oh Willy," Henry sighed and moved closer, smiling that wide smile of his. "You should have thought about that thirty years ago, fella. We're both too deep in this now to be talking about becoming wholesome parents. Look at yourself, for god's sake. Your time was up long ago. The only thing left for us in this world is each other and our research."

Henry was so close to William that his glow made it hard to see anything else. Still, William turned his head to look at the garage door.

"I-I'm not saying no to California," said William, "but just give me a little time to think about it, all right? In the meantime, I'll see what I can do about getting an animatronic for you and we'll get you detached from this house. I know what it feels like to be trapped."

Henry pulled back a little, satisfied. He patted William's shoulder approvingly, though his hand was so incorporeal that it didn't even disturb the fur. "Thank you, Willy. I knew I could count on you."

"Of course, Henry," William smiled uncertainly. "Til death do us part."

The door to the kitchen unlocked and opened. Henry and William both looked at the figure standing there holding an ax, outlined in the soft blue light creeping in from the living room.

"William?" called Charlie.

"Y-yes, I'm here," William answered quickly and got to his feet.

"There's a light switch on the wall," she said, flipping it. "You don't have to sit in the dark."

The ceiling light flickered on, diluting Henry's ghostly form to nothing. William couldn't see him anymore, but he knew he was still there, watching. William folded his hands nervously, facing Charlie. The kind look she had been giving him earlier that day was gone, replaced by a mother's skeptical and protective glare. She entered the garage, closed the door and leaned the ax against the wall.

"H-How are the kids?" William asked. "I-I'm so sorry for earlier, I got carried away."

"Remember what I told you the other night about you having one chance?" Charlie asked.

William felt his heart squeezing around the springlocks and he realized just how seriously Charlie had taken his little outburst. No charm, he reminded himself, charm doesn't work on her. Just the truth.

"I-I remember," he said. "I'm sorry—"

"We aren't obligated to let you stay here. We don't turn our back on family, but if you put our children in danger, Mike and I will not hesitate to cart you back to Freddy's and seal the place up for good."

"I'm sorry, Charlie, I won't—"

"Let me finish," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Because I'm not done. Mike and I decided that if you seem too dangerous for the kids, we'll send you back. But if you hurt either of my kids, even a little bit, even on accident, you won't be going back. Do you know why?"

William pulled anxiously at the fur on his arm. "W-why?" he asked.

"Because I'll take your head off with that ax." She jerked her thumb back at the weapon. "I won't tell Mike, I'll just do it. Then maybe you'll be dead for real, or maybe you'll still be alive, just in pieces. Either way, you won't be able to hurt anyone ever again. Understand?"

William stared at the ax, then back at Charlie. He hadn't pegged her as violent, but the stress of family did strange things to a person. He figured she might be bluffing, but the look in her eyes told him that he shouldn't test her, in case her threats were a hundred percent serious. He didn't like being threatened, but a part of him admired her for being willing to behead someone for her family. He saw why Michael had fallen in love with her.

"I understand," he said. "I would never do anything to hurt my grandchildren. I'm sorry I scared everyone today, I wasn't thinking. I-I won't approach them like that anymore."

"I know you won't," said Charlie. "Because you know what will happen."

William nodded. Why was he so concerned with staying with his family? They didn't trust him and they didn't want him around. Maybe he should go with Henry after all.

"Good." Charlie climbed the stairs back up towards the kitchen. She grabbed the ax but paused. She sighed. "Um, we were going to watch a movie, Mike, the kids and I." She looked back at William. "Do you like cartoons?"

"Y-yes," said William carefully.

"Our living room seats five people," she said. "If you can promise you won't pull a stunt like that again, you can come watch with us if you'd like."

"I won't," said William excitedly, approaching her. "I-I promise."

Charlie nodded. "Good. Well, come on then."

She opened the garage door and William followed her out and turned out the light. As he closed the door, he looked back and saw Henry glowing over by the bed, watching with an unreadable expression.

The house was dark except for the glow from the TV in the living room. Mike, Sammy and Beth were sitting on the couch under a blanket and there was an assortment of popcorn and other snacks on the table. A bright cityscape screensaver scrolled across the glowing TV screen, casting changing blue and purple light on their faces. Even though he tried to walk quietly, William's footsteps boomed on the hardwood in mechanical rattles and creaks.

"Hi guys," Charlie called softly into the den. "I want you to meet Grandpa Will."

She took William's hand and he jerked back at first, but then relaxed and carefully wrapped his fingers around her hand. Michael had his arms around both children and he was hunched over, whispering something secret to them. William wished he knew what he was saying. Mike guided them to turn around where they were seated. Sammy and Beth's eyes were large and their lips looked on the verge of quivering. William wanted to rush towards them and lift them into the air to prove that he was fun, not scary, but he had already tried the goofy approach and it had scared them. So he stayed where he was, holding Charlie's hand like a shy toddler.

"Grandpa Will," continued Charlie, "This is Sammy, and this is Beth." She turned to her children. "Grandpa Will is very sorry for scaring you today. Aren't you, Grandpa?"

William felt himself freezing up. The springlocks felt stiffer and more numerous, foiling any attempt at human movement. He stared into their eyes, heart squeezing, fingers twitching. They were nearly buried underneath piles of fuzzy blankets with Mike's arms arched protectively over their shoulders. Mike gazed into William's eyes with his mouth quirked up in an encouraging smile. "You can do it, Dad," it seemed to say, but William didn't know if he could do it. Those eyes were waiting for him to prove that he was a good person, a friendly bunny to watch movies and eat popcorn with, but all William could think of was the screams of the children in the backroom. Maybe his family had fallen apart because he wasn't suited to take care of a family. Maybe, no matter how many times he tried again, the result would be the same. And yet, everyone was staring at him, and he had to say something.

"I-I-I'm sorry f-for scaring you," he said quietly, trying to keep the buzz out of his voice. "I-I was just excited to meet you. C-can you please forgive me?"

The kids were silent. Mike looked down at them and hugged them encouragingly.

"What do you say?" he asked in a voice that sounded very warm and fatherly. It was a deliberate tone of voice and William remembered he had taken that voice with his own kids when they were young. It was meant to soothe misgivings and it was working, even on William. "What do you say when someone says sorry?" he prodded encouragingly.

"Mm…forgive you…" Beth and Sammy muttered around each other.

"You what?" asked Mike.

"I forgive you."

Mike hugged them close and kissed them on the cheek, which made them laugh and push him away. "Thank you, Beth. Thank you, Sammy. See, Grandpa?" He smiled up at William and Charlie. "It's all good. These guys are masters of forgiveness. Are you going to watch the movie with us?"

William smiled and his hackles sank in relief.

"I-I would like to, if that's okay?"

"Yeah, that's okay," said Mike with a smile. "Right, Charlie?"

"Yeah," Charlie said with a small sigh, her hackles lowering as well. "You can sit on this couch over here."

She led him over to a loveseat on the right that was angled towards the TV. He sat obediently on it, his heavy metal body sinking into the soft cushions. After making sure that he was situated, Charlie went back to her spot on the larger sofa and laid a blanket over her legs. Sammy was between them, but Mike stretched his arm across the back of the couch to touch her shoulder. Charlie gave him a loving look and settled into the couch a little more. Mike sat up and reached for the remote.

"Everyone ready?" he asked, looking around at his family. The kids confirmed they were and grabbed their bowls of popcorn from the coffee table. Mike looked at William as well. "Ready, Grandpa?"

William looked at them all in shock for a moment, sitting ramrod straight on the sofa. He smoothed the fur on his thighs nervously. "I-I'm ready," he said attempting a smile. "What are we watching?" Mike told him, but he didn't listen. He was too busy staring at Charlie and the children, trying to gauge their opinion of him. "Sounds good," he said.

Mike started the movie and leaned back into the couch. As the opening credits began to roll, Sammy handed his popcorn to Charlie and climbed out from under his blanket.

"Where're you going, bud?" asked Mike.

Sammy ran off into the kitchen and William heard the fridge door open and shut. Then one of the drawers. He came back with a plate of something wrapped in plastic wrap and a fork. He walked past his spot on the couch and carefully approached William. Mike and Charlie leaned towards him, ready in case anything happened, but William was determined that nothing would happen. He sat still and silent, watching as his grandson approached. Sammy held the plate and fork out and, very slowly, William lifted his hands from the couch and received the plate from him. He looked down and realized that these were the pancakes Sammy had made for him that morning. He had, indeed, gone all out. Strawberries were everywhere, syrup oozed out of the plastic, and a pile of sprinkles depicted a smiley face. Sammy stood there in front of him, silent, as William examined his gift.

"Th-thank you," said William. "These look delicious."

"Dad said you were asleep this morning, so we had to wrap them up," Sammy explained quietly. "But you can eat them now."

William reminded himself not to make any sudden movements that would scare Sammy, but he wanted to stand up and hug him, lift him up onto his shoulders, swing him around. But those movements were out of the question, so he just smiled and carefully removed the plastic wrap.

"Thank you so much, S-Sammy," he said. "I-I can't eat when I'm wearing this suit, but I'll keep them right here on my lap, s-so I can admire them during the movie, a-alright?"

"Alright," Sammy agreed, playfully copying his tone. He bounced back to his spot on the couch between his parents and snuggled in with a big grin on his face.

"That was very nice of you," Mike whispered into his ear as he poked him in the side, earning some proud giggles from Sammy.

Charlie passed the popcorn bowl back and met William's eyes. She didn't smile, but the creases of worry around her eyes had lessened a little. William looked at the pancakes, and then up at the TV. It was some animated superhero movie or other. He didn't recognize it, and he couldn't really concentrate on it. He wanted to pace, he wanted to build something, he wanted to eat the pancakes on his lap. But he couldn't do any of that right now. So he settled for bouncing his leg and cradling the plate in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a pink glow coming from the kitchen, but he ignored it. Right now, he was Grandpa Will and his only objective was to watch this weird cartoon with his grandkids.

* * *

A/N: Would Charlie actually chop William's head off if he hurt her kids? Most definitely. Would she tell Mike first? Probably. Would his input stop her? Maybe, maybe not.

I honestly didn't expect Henry to become such a plot point in this story, but give that man an inch and he takes a mile. William will need to make some tough decisions in the next few chapters.

Also, **Dinosaur**, I just read through your review again and, gosh darn, you COMPLETELY called it with Henry's ghost haha! That's exactly how it went down.


	6. We Can Make Accidents Happen

A/N: More Henry, more Beth and Sammy, more breakfast, and more Charlie-style threats.

The title of the chapter is from the song, "You Can't Hide" by CK9C

* * *

William managed to sit still through the whole movie and it ended without incident. Charlie took the kids up to bed and Michael helped William back to the garage. It took some coaxing, but Michael was finally able to get William to give up the pancakes by promising that he would put them back in the fridge and wouldn't throw them away.

"Are you going to be okay by yourself tonight?" Michael asked before leaving him.

"I'll be all right," said William, and for the first time in years, he meant it. Sammy's pancakes had given him strength and he felt like he could do anything, even sit by himself all night.

"Great," said Mike. "You did good tonight."

William sat down on the futon. "Thanks for letting me spend time with your family. I-I promise, you won't regret it. I already told Charlie, but I won't scare Sammy and Beth anymore."

"That's good to hear," said Michael. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, Michael."

Mike closed the door and turned out the light, leaving the garage dark except for the soft glow of the bedside lamp. When the light was out, Henry's ghostly form became visible again. He was standing beside the bookshelf.

"Do Mike and Charlotte know you've been drawing on the walls?" he asked.

"No, and please don't tell them," replied William.

"I won't," Henry said. "They can't hear me anyway."

"I wasn't in a good frame of mind last night," William explained. "But I'm better now."

"Willy, we both know that's not true," tutted Henry. He left the bookshelf and floated to sit beside William on the bed. "You've been 'better' before."

William looked at him offended. "It's different this time."

Henry slung his arm around William's shoulders. "I know, Will, I know. It's different every time. You should stop punishing yourself and just accept who you are. It'll make life easier for you."

William hunched under the imagined weight of Henry's arm.

"I know you're trying to help, Henry," he said, "but please stop."

"I accepted that you are the way you are, and it reduced a lot of stress for me," Henry continued with his mouth close to William's ear.

"Please stop." William put his head in his hands. "Please just let me have this."

"Okay," Henry conceded. "I'll stop talking about it."

After Henry felt like he had made his point, he moved on to brainstorming about where they were going to get an animatronic and how they were going to overcome the hurdle of Henry not being able to possess any of them. Once Will realized that Henry was done talking about family and whether or not William could join one, he loosened up and began offering his own theories.

"The animatronics at Freddy's are destroyed," William said, leaving out the fact that he was the one who had destroyed them, "But the second generation bots might still be in the lab."

"The lab under your house?" asked Henry. "Don't you think the police would have raided that a long time ago?"

William shrugged. "It's that or we try to construct a functioning body out of old Freddy's parts. Or, actually, the robot you built—"

"Gone," said Henry. "Taken into evidence in nineteen ninety something," He sighed. "It's odd to think the 1900s are over." William agreed. "Think we'll still be around to see 2100?"

"God, I hope not." William fidgeted. "There used to be remnant samples there as well, in the lab," he continued. "I kept a couple vials taped under my desk in case the main supply got stolen or confiscated."

Henry smiled approvingly. "Very smart."

William smiled, eager for more of Henry's praise. "I-I'm pretty confident that remnant is the key to getting your spirit to stick to a mechanical body. I don't know what happened last time or why it didn't work, but I know together we can figure it out."

"That's the Will I know," said Henry. "I can't leave this house because of the attachments, so you'll have to go there yourself. Do you think Michael would take you there?"

William wheezed a sound of uncertainty. "I'm on thin ice with them right now."

"Willy," Henry hunched tighter around him, "if you don't find a way to do it, I'm stuck here without a body forever. You have to find a way."

"I will," said William. "Just…let me think of an angle. I'll make it work, I promise."

Henry let up and leaned against the wall. "I know you will," he said.

They talked off and on through the rest of the night until they had come up with a solid plan of action. William would get Michael to drive him to the lab somehow. And there, William would grab a functional robot and the last reserves of remnant. Back in the garage, William and Henry would experiment on it until they found some combination or arrangement that would allow Henry to enter and control it. How would they convince Michael and Charlie to let William do these experiments? Neither William or Henry could come up with an answer. "Just show that you're not making anything dangerous, and they'll let you do it," said Henry, as if it was that easy.

William wasn't so sure, but that was a question for later, several notches down the pole from the first uncertainty: getting Michael to take him to the lab. But it had to be Michael, unless William was going to commandeer one of their cars and drive himself, which was possible but much more difficult. Charlie would never take him there, and even if she did, William didn't want her standing over him with her ax, watching his every move. No, Michael wanted to get along with William and he was more likely to do things to help William cope as long as those things were safe. It had to be Michael.

In no time, the sun was up again and Michael was unlocking the garage door. William hurriedly scooped up the papers he had scattered all over the bed with his and Henry's notes written on them and stuffed them between the bed and the wall. Mike pushed the door open slowly as not to startle William.

"Good morning, Dad," he said quietly. "You up?"

"A-always," said William with a smile. He got up from the bed. "You're up a little early for a Saturday, aren't you?"

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well," he chuckled, "I didn't sleep well last night."

"Oh no?" asked William. "Why is that?"

"It's nothing. Brain won't turn off sometimes. Anyway, how are you feeling?"

"Good," he replied.

"Would you, um, like to help me make breakfast?" asked Mike.

"Really?" William approached him excitedly. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. All thoughts of the sister location were gone.

"Why not?" asked Mike pushing his hair back awkwardly. "I mean, everyone did so well last night, I figure it's okay for you to come in and visit this morning as long as you take it slow with the kids. Plus, maybe it's a little selfish on my part, but I kinda miss your Saturday fry ups."

There were plenty of things that were different between England and the United States, but the difference that had always bothered William the most growing up with his mother in New York was the lack of traditional English-style breakfasts. New York had every style of food you could imagine, but trying to find a place that would serve you beans on toast for less than a fortune was impossible. He took to making it himself and by the time his children were born, it had become a tradition.

On Saturdays, before he went to open Freddy's for the day, he would make as close to a full English breakfast as they could afford: fried tomatoes, sunny side up eggs, sausage, ham, and of course, baked beans on toast. He had given up on trying to find a grocery store that sold black pudding, but that was all right. The only time he had found some at a specialty market and fed it to his kids, they had complained about it for days. William didn't realize those breakfasts had meant so much to Mike. He figured Mike had just put up with them growing up.

"It's okay to be selfish sometimes, I think," said William, clapping his hands together. "I will gladly fry something up for you and the family. Though, my hands aren't exactly sanitary." He looked down at the fur and bone.

"We have latex gloves in the bathroom from when Charlie colors her hair," Mike said quickly. "I'll grab you some."

William followed Mike into the kitchen and waited by the stove as Mike ran upstairs for the gloves. He looked around the bright kitchen, bathed in the fresh sunlight coming in the bay window. The popcorn bowls were stacked and soaking in the sink and a pile of paper napkins printed with pink and purple flowers were sitting next to an old-fashioned ceramic cookie jar, carved to look like a yellow beehive. William carefully lifted the lid and peered inside. Sure enough, there were cookies in there, but he couldn't tell what kind without a sense of smell. Chocolate chip? Oatmeal raisin? He wondered what kind Mike and Charlie were likely to make and what kind were Sammy and Beth's favorite.

"Hand in the cookie jar?"

William jolted and banged his head on the underside of the cabinets, causing all the dishes inside to rattle. Michael rushed to the counter and braced the cabinets, just in case one of them came loose from the wall.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," said Mike.

"I-I was just looking," said William at the same time.

"It's okay," said Mike. "You can look. You can have one, too, if you'd like. You know, just to keep."

"What kind of cookies did you make?"

"That was Charlie, and they're peanut butter with chocolate chips. They're really good."

"Ah," said William, wishing he could taste them. "They sound good. Um, where do you keep your skillets?"

"Right in here." Mike crouched and opened the cupboard next to William. He pulled out a couple frying pans of different sizes, as well as a cutting board and an assortment of spoons and spatulas.

"We have everything except ham," said Mike as he took an egg carton, a pack of sausages, and three large ripe tomatoes out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter. "And black pudding," he added.

"That's all right with me if it's all right with you," said William as he set one of the tomatoes on the cutting board and turned on the stove to warm up the skillet. It clicked twice and lit. "I just hope I remember how to cook it properly."

He took a knife out of the knife block on the counter and prepared to cut the tomato, but hesitated. The surgical sharpness of the steel edge hovered above the tomato, just a millimeter away from slicing through that thin skin which would let the red flesh and juice spill out. He thought of things he didn't want to think about, about safe rooms and children and the sound a knife made when it ripped through cotton and how it didn't make any sound when it cut through skin. He thought about the satisfying destruction of it all.

Henry was watching him from over by the garage door. Mike had stopped collecting supplies and was watching him as well. William tried to shake the visions away and he held the tomato still with his other hand, preparing to slice it into rounds, but he couldn't stop looking at the water droplets tracing down over the smooth surface edge like frightened tears.

William stepped back from the cutting board, cradling the knife like a wounded limb, and turned to look at Michael. His pained expression matched William's.

"W-Would you please do the honors?" William asked trying to sound eager but just sounding sweaty. "I-I don't want to stain the suit." He handed Michael the knife.

Michael took it uncertainly, as though he expected it to bite him, but then said, "Sure thing, Dad," and set to work slicing up the tomatoes.

William ran his finger under the faucet and flicked a few droplets of water into the frying pan. They sizzled away immediately, so William cracked the eggs in the pan and watched them cook. He glanced over at Michael, who had finished with the tomatoes and was getting a can of beans out of the pantry. He hoped he wasn't thinking too much about the knife.

"What was that about?" Henry asked as he floated casually by the door.

"Nothing," said William.

"What did you say?" asked Mike.

William realized he had said it out loud. "N-nothing," he said. "I'm just…talking to myself."

"Oh," said Mike.

They didn't say anything for a while. William worried about what Mike was thinking. There is no way he would have suspected what was really going on, but the imagination could spin tons of situations that were much worse than the truth. William knew he wasn't well, but he didn't want Michael to think that meant there was a chance that he would hurt his family. He couldn't bear it if Mike thought that.

"Dad, the eggs are burning."

William snapped back to reality and took the skillet off the range. Don't say anything, he told himself, if you bring up the knife, you're going to make him suspicious if he isn't already. William scraped the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. He avoided eye contact with Mike as he laid the tomato slices in the hot skillet and carefully placed the cutting board and knife in the sink.

"Is everything okay?" asked Mike. "You seem a little quiet this morning."

William watched the tomatoes cook. "I'm all right," he said. Don't say anything, he thought again, but he couldn't stop himself. He had to know. "Sorry it's out of the blue, but, you know I'd never hurt you or your family, right?"

Michael sighed. "We've been over this, Dad."

"I-I know, I just, I need to hear you say it," William said. I need you to trust me, he didn't say.

Mike was silent for a long moment as he poured the beans into a bowl and put them into the microwave. William turned the tomatoes, kicking himself for bringing it up. Mike had already told him that he didn't trust him. Why did he want him to say it again? What did he think had changed? Now he had made it worse. Classic William. Stupid, spastic, dangerous.

"I'm getting there," Mike finally said, "But like I said, it's going to take time. And continuing to ask about it definitely doesn't help."

William's ears went back. He had just messed everything up. "I-I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Forget I said anything."

"But," continued Mike, "spending time together like last night and this morning, getting to know each other again, that's the way forward." He set the sausages in the pan and William scooted the tomatoes to the side to make room. "Just relax, okay Dad?"

"O-Okay," William agreed. "I'll try."

"We all want this to work out," said Mike as he set a stack of plates on the table. "And you do too, don't you?"

"O-of course!"

William heard doors open upstairs.

"Good," said Mike. "So we can stop talking about it."

Tiny footsteps thundered down the stairs and across the wood floor. William turned around and saw Beth and Sammy hovering in the doorway to the kitchen in their PJs, eyeing him uncertainly.

"Morning, guys!" greeted Michael. He walked over to them and gave them a hug.

Beth stared at William over his shoulder. "What's Grandpa Will doing?" she asked.

"Making breakfast," replied Mike, standing up and taking his children's hands. "Can you say good morning to him?"

"Morning," Beth said quietly, avoiding eye contact.

"G-good morning, Beth," replied William, careful not to scare her.

Sammy broke free from Mike's grip and ran towards the stove. Michael reached out for him out of reflex. William took a step back, but Sammy went straight over to the fridge and opened it up.

"You still didn't eat the pancakes," he said taking the plate out and setting it on the counter next to William. "Don't you like them?"

"I love them," replied William. "I just, I can't eat when I'm in this suit—"

"So take off the suit," said Beth. She sat at the table and folded her hands in front of her expectantly. "What are you hiding under there?"

Great, there are two Charlies, thought William. He could barely keep up with the skepticism of one. He shared a panicked look with Michael, who didn't look like he had any solutions either. Mike shrugged in a way that seemed to say, "You can tell them, just don't make it too scary." William thought about the best way to explain without bringing up the murders.

"Well," began William, looking between Beth and Sammy. He crouched to Sammy's height and smiled encouragingly. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Okay!" Mike rushed over and herded Sammy to the table. "What Grandpa meant to say is that, he needs to keep the suit on. He can't…" Michael weighed words for a moment. "…breathe…without it."

"Like Darth Vader?" asked Sammy.

William shook his head, amused. Somehow, the description was perfect, even if it wasn't exactly accurate. And he was happy that children were still watching Star Wars in the twenty-first century. He had seen all three movies in theaters and thought they were great fun. When they came out on video cassette, he had brought them home to show his kids. He started with the last one, because he didn't know if Mike and the others would like it and if they didn't want to see the other two, he wanted to make sure that they at least got to see the ewoks.

Mike laughed and ruffled Sammy's hair. "Yes, exactly like Darth Vader."

"Why a bunny suit, though?" asked Beth.

"Because rabbits are cute and kids love them," William explained simply as he dished helpings onto plates and set them on the table.

"But how can you eat if you don't take off the bunny suit?" asked Sammy.

"I don't need to eat." William glanced at Michael. "It's part of my condition."

"That's kind of cool," said Beth, picking at the plate in front of her. "Is your condition why you smell bad?"

William deflated a little.

"Beth," Mike chided.

It made sense that his rotting body would smell bad, but he didn't realize it was that bad. They could clean the outside of the suit as much as they wanted but as long as his body was inside turning into dirt, it would always smell rancid to some degree. However, he perked himself up and flicked his whiskers back, determined to show the kids how confident and fun he was.

"All robot-human hybrids smell that way," he said animatedly. "D-didn't you know that?"

"Really?" asked Sammy.

"Of course," William insisted sitting at the table across from them. "But between you and me, it's a little upsetting to point it out. S-so, if you see any people like me walking around," he put a finger to his static grin in a shushing motion. "Okay?"

"Okay," said Beth and Sammy.

They both settled into their seats and turned their attention to their breakfast. William glanced at Mike who was smiling at him approvingly. William smiled back, relieved to finally be able to talk with his grandkids without an ax between them.

Charlie staggered into the kitchen, blinking in the sunlight. "You're all up so early," she yawned, then froze when she spotted the rabbit at the table. They locked eyes for a long uncomfortable moment and William felt like the flint in her stare was going to set him on fire right there in the breakfast nook.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Mike said as he quickly skirted the kitchen island and gave her a kiss. Charlie gave him a quick kiss back and self-consciously pulled her robe tighter.

"You guys having breakfast?" Charlie asked in her mom voice.

"Yup!" the kids replied.

"Grandpa made beans and tomatoes for breakfast," said Sammy. "And they're not as gross as they look."

"They're really good, Mom," said Beth, "You should try them."

"How thoughtful of him," said Charlie, eyeing William.

"It was my idea," Mike said. "He always used to make these kinds of breakfasts when my siblings and I were young, and I missed them."

"Is that so?"

"Y-yes," said William, clutching his hands together tightly on the table. "I-it's an old family recipe. From E-England."

"Oh, well that's okay then," said Charlie, her tone like a strawberry dipped in poison. She walked calmly to the table and sat at the head, very close to William. "I'll take some of that."

"S-sure." William stumbled to his feet and over to the stove to dish her up a serving. He didn't know what Charlie was trying to do, whether she was testing him or whether she was just getting some form of slow burning revenge against him that would end with his eventual dismemberment, but he was willing to play her game if it meant he could keep interacting with his grandchildren.

"Take it easy on him, Char," Mike whispered. "He's doing his best."

Charlie didn't respond. Instead, she turned her attention to the kids.

"Are you two excited for today?" she asked.

"Yeah!" the kids cheered in unison.

"W-what's today?" asked William.

"Swimming lessons," said Sammy.

"Soccer practice for me," said Beth. "I already know how to swim."

"That sure sounds fun," said William as he handed Charlie her plate.

"You should come watch me!" said Sammy. "I'm getting really good. Mom, can Grandpa come?"

"Yeah!" agreed Beth, "and then I want to show him the new kick I learned."

"Please?"

"Yeah, please?"

"No can do, kiddos," said Mike. "Grandpa and I have errands to run here at home."

"Aw," said Sammy.

"For the memorial?" asked Beth.

William jolted. "W-what memorial?" he asked.

"For the dead Freddy Fazbear kids," Beth said.

"Hey," Charlie said, desperate to change the subject. "How about if I take a video of you both doing your famous tricks and we can show it to Grandpa when we get home? Is that a fair compromise?"

"But I want him to watch me in real life," protested Sammy.

"Y-you should obey your mother," William chimed in, earning him a death glare from Charlie.

"I don't need you to—" Charlie broke off and took a long breath. She looked back at her children. "Grandpa has to stay home today. He promised Dad that he would help him with a project. But we'll take a video and show it to him later, all right?" Sammy and Beth agreed. "Good, I knew you two would understand. You're both so thoughtful and responsible. Can I get a high five for big kids?" She put her hand up and, after a moment of sulking, both kids gave her a high five. "Great. Is your gear all packed?"

"No," said Sammy.

"It was in the garage," said Beth, "but I don't know where it is now."

"I'll show you," said Mike, glancing back at Charlie and William. He led Beth towards the back door. "Sammy, yours should be in your room."

When it was just Charlie and William at the table, Charlie turned so she could face him.

"Please leave the parenting to Mike and myself," she said. "You had your shot. Mike and I know what we're doing."

"I was just telling them they should listen to you," huffed William. "What's so wrong with that?"

"They already know that. And when there's pushback, we talk through it as a family until we're all on the same page," said Charlie. "They don't need to be told to obey."

"Kids always need to be told to obey, or they won't do it. I had three of my own, you know."

"And two of them died." Charlie tapped the fork on the table like a nervous tick. "And Mike is…" William waited for her to finish, but she didn't.

"Mike is fine," William said. He hated her for bringing up Elizabeth and George. She didn't get to judge him. She may have grown up playing with them, but they were William's kids. William's. Not hers.

"Mike is not fine," she said. "Can't you see that? None of us are fine. And it's entirely because of you and my dad."

William picked at his fingers. "I don't know what you want me to do," he buzzed. "What can I do about that now? I'm sorry life bit you both in the ass. I'm sorry my mistakes had a hand in that. But it's in the past. Look at you and Mike: you're fine. You have a beautiful house, amazing kids, you're surrounded by people who love you. I get that the murders were bad. I do. But what exactly did I take away from you, personally?"

"Well, let's see," Charlie said, "My brother, my best friends, my childhood, my belief in the good of the world—"

"Oh come on, you were always a sullen little thing," scoffed William.

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Charlie snapped. "I know you can't do anything about all of that now, but the reason I keep harping on it is because I don't feel like you understand how much your actions damaged us. You act like it was just a couple of slip ups, like you just lost your temper at a customer or you nicked a few bucks out of the register. You destroyed our lives, not to mention the lives of everyone attached to the children you murdered. And you think if you say 'I'm sorry' enough times, it'll fix everything."

"I don't think that."

"Mike has nightmares almost every night about Freddy's, you know," Charlie seethed, looking ready to strangle him. "He can't sleep because he still feels like he was somehow responsible. That's what happens when you put children through the shit you pulled. The ones who survive blame themselves and they carry that blame into adulthood."

"Do you blame yourself?"

Charlie stopped tapping her fork. She stared so hard at it that William thought it would start to curl up on its own.

"What do you think?"

"You didn't even stay with Henry that long," said William.

"It doesn't matter. My brain still says I should have figured out what he was doing and stopped it."

William looked over at the garage door but Henry wasn't there anymore. He didn't want to listen to what his only surviving child thought about him. William could blame him for plenty of things, but not for that. Charlie was quiet and William didn't know what to say. She had made it clear that she didn't want to hear any more apologies from him. But she still acted like she wanted him to fix it. Somehow.

"What can I do to make this better?" William asked.

"Nothing," Charlie replied. "I just want you to truly understand what you did to Mike and myself. We've already worked through it, more or less. This," she motioned to her face and William realized that she had been crying. In defiance, she didn't wipe the tears away and they made her look stronger. "This isn't a broken machine for you to fix. We'll heal. Instead, I want you to work on all of that." She motioned towards William. "I'm a mom. I can tell when there are emotions that haven't been worked through properly, and you have a lot of them. You've got unfinished business and your homework is to start sifting through it. That's the only way you can make it better. Be kind to Beth and Sammy, yes, follow the house rules, yes, but also sort your shit out. Otherwise, it's going to come right back up. I wish I could paint you a prettier picture, but that's reality."

"Do you want me to give you a progress report to grade or something?" grumbled William.

"Not unless you think it'll help."

"How am I supposed to 'sort my shit out,' as you put it?"

"Figure it out," Charlie replied.

William got up from the table and gathered up Sammy and Beth's plates. "Are you done?" he asked.

Charlie pushed her dish towards him. "Yeah, I'm done."

William set the dirty dishes in the sink and walked towards the den.

"Where are you going?" Charlie asked, preparing to follow him.

"To see if Mike and Beth need any help," William replied.

He didn't wait for her permission. Instead he strode like the owner of Freddy Fazbear's through the den to the patio door. Through the glass in the door, he could see Mike pulling Beth's soccer gear out of a messy pile of outdoor equipment that had been piled out back to make space in the garage. Henry was waiting for him and as William watched his family out the window, he emerged from the wall.

"That didn't go well," Henry noted.

William glanced back, but the table was empty; Charlie had gone upstairs to check on Sammy.

"She'll come around," William replied.

"By 'come around,' do you mean she'll forgive you and accept you into the family?" asked Henry. They both looked out the window at Beth and Mike. "She's never going to let you be alone with your grandchildren. Ever. The best you'll ever be able to do is remain their unwelcome guest. And that's assuming that they ever let you graduate from living locked up in the garage like their misbehaving pet."

"No more, Henry," William said limply. "Please."

"She's awfully stubborn," Henry said. "Always has been."

"I have to win her over, so I will. I don't have another choice."

"But you do," said Henry floating behind him and placing his hands on his shoulders like protective armor. "California. With me. We'll leave all their judgment behind and start new. What we did back then wasn't right but it was honest, and seeing you bend over backwards trying to apologize for it makes me unhappy."

Outside, Beth threw her soccer ball up into the air and gave it a hard kick, sending it soaring into the neighbor's yard. Mike yelled in mock alarm, then turned to Beth, laughing, saying he'd get it.

"I am sorry for what I did, though," said William. "I just need them to believe me."

"They won't," said Henry. "They're never going to trust you. You're wasting your time pandering to them."

"I'm not pandering."

"Get me a working body, help me break my attachment, and you'll see I'm right."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he knew everything would work out just as Henry said. Henry was the one with the plan, the foresight. Without Henry's direction, William based decisions purely on emotion and he knew he was doing exactly the same thing now with Mike's family. He knew they weren't going to accept him, but the thought of not being with them felt like having the wires ripped out of his chest and he couldn't bear the thought of losing them. Even if they didn't want him around, he had to stay there. If he didn't, he felt like he'd disintegrate into a pile of bones and sprockets. Maybe that's what Henry meant by attachment. Whether or not William decided to go with Henry, he needed to get him a body so that he could leave.

William stepped out of the way when Mike opened the door.

"Hi, Dad," Michael said carefully. "What're you doing?"

"J-just seeing if you needed help gathering Beth's soccer equipment," William replied trying to shake off Henry's hands. "T-that was quite a kick," he added.

Mike smiled and looked back at Beth proudly. "Wasn't it? She's getting really good. She wants to join the school's official soccer team this year."

"She's not on the team?"

"Not officially," replied Mike. "She didn't know if she would enjoy it, so she joined a casual, weekends-only team for fun. Turns out, she loves the game and she's really good."

"How about that…" William mused.

He thought of his own brief foray into school sports. He had tried out for just about everything that he thought would get him noticed and because he was tall and fast, he made it onto most teams. However, he never really enjoyed sports, except for the fact that it gave him a constructive way to get his aggression out. In his junior year in high school, after seeing a heart wrenching version of Les Miserable put on by the drama club, he quit all the sports and immediately tried out. He was only ever in one show because his mother's health declined steeply during his senior year, but the one show he was in, a musical version of Arsenic and Old Lace, solidified a life goal of his. It had combined everything he liked doing: costumes, dancing, singing, acting, a little bit of horror mystery and humor. He could be someone else, if just during practice and shows. He knew he wanted to be someone else for the rest of his life. Henry had come to every showing and sat in the front row.

"Michael, um," said William.

"What's up?"

"Could I talk to you? Privately, I mean. When everyone leaves. About the m-memorial."

Michael looked a little concerned but he nodded. "Of course," he said. "Let me get everyone sent off, and then we can talk in the den, okay?"

"Okay."

Michael left out the front door to go get the ball from the neighbor.

Beth approached the door, arms full of soccer gear and William opened it for her.

"Thanks," she said, sidling past him and hurrying to the entryway.

"Hey Beth," William called. Beth looked back, worried, so William moved more slowly. He stood a safe distance away from her and clasped his hands behind his back. "Y-you mentioned a memorial for Freddy's during breakfast."

"Yeah," Beth said relaxing a little. "Mom and Dad won the original building and they're going to build a park or something to the kids that got murdered."

"T-they told you about the children?" asked William horrified.

"No, I heard it from Katie at school like three years ago," Beth replied. "Everyone knows about it. Did you hear about what happened?"

"Y-yeah a little bit," William replied with a nervous grin. "B-but my memory isn't what it used to be. W-what did Katie tell you exactly?"

"She told me that a bunch of kids disappeared in the eighties, and it turns out a psycho killed them and stuffed them in robot suits. And Ryan said the killer actually chopped off their fingers and ate them."

"That's not true," William said quickly.

"Yeah, that part's pretty far fetched," Beth admitted. "Ryan's always making crazy stuff up because he think's it'll impress me or something. The robot suit part probably isn't true either." She looked up at William as if for the first time. "Did you get your suit from Freddy's?"

"No," he replied, worried that she'd figure it out. "I-I bought it from the store Freddy's purchased the suits from, though."

"What store?"

"It's closed down now."

"Beth?" Charlie called from the staircase. "Are you ready to go?"

"Almost!" Beth called back, running towards the stairs. "I just gotta get dressed!"

William stood alone in the den and listened to everyone getting ready upstairs, a cacophony of activity that he had dearly missed. Even though Charlie's nonstop threats irritated him, he thought that she and Michael seemed like good parents. Their children seemed happy, busy with hobbies and they spoke freely as though they knew that their opinions mattered. Mike and Charlie didn't need to resort to scaring them to keep them safe. William wondered if what Charlie said about Mike was true, that he still had nightmares about Freddy's and that's why he couldn't sleep. How could that be? Nightmares about events that took place almost thirty years ago? He hoped that she had been exaggerating. William thought that he might ask him about it, but decided he probably shouldn't.

Once the kids were dressed and ready to go, Charlie gave Mike a kiss and the three of them left. When they did, Michael went to find William sitting in the den and sat on the couch across from him. He folded his hands on his knees with a sigh and William thought he looked exhausted.

"So, the memorial," began Mike, looking up at William with a wan smile.

"The memorial," said William. "Beth said y-you are tearing down Freddy's and building a p-park?"

"That's the plan," replied Mike.

"For the children."

"Yes."

William leaned slowly back on the couch, thinking. "That's why you went to Fazbear's," he said. "You weren't there to find me, you were making plans to bulldoze it."

"We didn't even know you were in there," confessed Mike. "I thought you had run off somewhere after…" He paused. "After everything."

William heaved a sigh. "Y-you thought I abandoned you."

"I did," said Michael. "When you disappeared, I went to live with Uncle Carl until I graduated."

"Schmidt or Joyce?"

"Schmidt. Mom's step brother."

"Ah."

"I changed my name to Schmidt, too," Mike continued, as though this was something he needed to say, "Finding work as a Schmidt was much easier than it was as an Afton. I found an auto repair shop to take a chance on me, and the rest is history."

"You changed your name." It hurt William more than he expected it would. William was the last Afton remaining, except for whatever distant relatives were left in England.

"Sorry," said Michael. "I had to for my own sake."

"I understand," said William. "So this memorial is some…act of closure?"

"Charlie and I want to put the past to rest and move on," Mike explained, "but we can't do that with Freddy's hanging over us. We need to give everything a decent burial so that we can leave it for good."

Something clicked in William's brain and he felt wonderful and terrible at the same time. Henry was watching their exchange from the back door, had caught the change of expression in William's eyes, and smiled. They both knew that William had found his angle.

"I-I would like to help," said William.

Michael looked confused for a moment, as though he thought he had misheard him. "You'd like to help? With the memorial?"

"Yes," said William, watching Henry. Michael glanced to see what he was looking at so William looked back at Mike. "I-it's the least I can do."

"You sure?" Mike prodded in disbelief.

"Y-yes," William replied. "I'm serious. I want to help however I c-can." Michael didn't look convinced. "Charlie told me I need to start working through my emotions and such. I-I think if I help you with the memorial, m-maybe it will help me move on, too."

Mike shrugged. "Well, it couldn't hurt I guess." He smiled. "We'd love to have your help. Thanks, Dad."

"Thank you," said William. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Henry's glowing hands rest on his shoulders again. "Say, M-Michael…since we are putting Freddy's to rest for good, there is one other place that we ought to clean out. I don't know if you know this, but back when the restaurant was thriving, Henry and I built an underground lab…"

* * *

A/N: "I want to help create a memorial for all the kids I killed and if that takes us to an extremely dangerous underground lab, well Michael, so be it. By the way, I need a robot."


	7. Thought I Was You

A/N: Alternate titles for this chapter are: "The Thing That Shouldn't Have Happened But It Did Because Aftons Are Reckless Bastards" -or- "Ice Cream Shop: One Scoop or Two?"

* * *

Michael listened quietly as his father told him about the underground lab he and Henry had secretly built back in the eighties. As William spoke, Michael wrung his hands, uncomfortable not only because he was finding out yet another morbid secret about his father, but also because he recognized the voice his father was using and it didn't bode well.

His father was talking more than he had since Mike had discovered him. His voice came through strongly, stringing together sentences at a frantic speed, a manufactured excitement that was usually reserved for lying to customers that certain safety measures had been taken when they hadn't been, or for lying to Mr. Miller, assuring him that his jabs at William's expense were funny and no big deal. But everything was a big deal to William. He lied a lot and was pretty good at getting away with it as long as he didn't try lying to people who were familiar with his normal behavior. Even through the Springbonnie suit, Michael could tell he was fabricating something, as though he thought that if he stacked enough positive words together, he could replace what was true with what he wished was true.

What Mike didn't understand was why he was lying to him and what he was lying about. His father confessed that he and Henry had built a secret lab where they had created all the robots, where they had done most of their research on artificial intelligence and where many of the children had died. Because of this, William was vouching for cleaning it out as part of the memorial-creation process. Everything sounded on the level except his tone of voice. But, Michael reasoned, that could very well be a combination of a tattered voice box and a fear of being rejected. Still, something was off about it.

"…And if we are able to get inside, I think we should sell the robotic parts and bury everything that is biodegradable," said William. "I-I think the children would have wanted that, d-don't you agree, Michael?"

"I don't know what they would have wanted," said Michael, still lost in his own thoughts, still studying the minute movements in Springtrap's face, "but I think it's a good idea to clean it out. Get rid of all the bad karma, you know?"

"Good." William's leg was bouncing. "Yes, good, good. W-what do you think about…going there today? Just the two of us. It c-can be l-like a…like a f-father and son outing."

Mike looked at him long and hard. He had to stop this before it got too far along. "Are you okay, Dad?" he asked.

"Perfect, w-why do you ask?"

His father was acting like Mike was just another person whose eyes he could pull the wool over. That bothered Michael more than finding out about his father's secret lab. All of William's talk of trust and safety and "I'd never hurt my family ever in a million years" and here he was trying to fool him.

"You're using your customer service voice," said Michael. There was no point dancing around it. Mike and Charlie couldn't afford to allow secrets to grow between them and William. Like an alcoholic who just wanted one sip for old time's sake, one secret had the potential to take them back thirty years, back to children who went missing and William who was positive he had no idea who was taking them.

William's ears flicked back, embarrassed. "M-my customer service voice?" he asked.

"The one you used with pissed off parents," said Mike. He could still see his father emerging from the office with a bounce in his step after one of the part-time employees had gone back to inform him about the angry mother waiting by the prize counter. Mike could see his smile materializing in the darkness first, as wide, white and fake as Springbonnie's own grin.

William looked down, uncomfortable. Mike sighed.

"I only bring it up because it makes me feel like you're hiding something, which worries me," said Mike.

"I-I didn't know I had a customer service voice."

"It's okay, everyone has one," said Michael.

William looked like he had been caught. Michael didn't know what his father had been trying to pull, but it was clear now that he had been trying to pull something. At least, that's how Mike interpreted William's sudden silence. He looked like he was biting down hard on the words. There was a truth there behind his eyes that he didn't want to share with Mike and seeing how tightly he held it, Mike felt bad for trying to pry it away from him. But if they were going to a decrepit old laboratory together, he needed to have all the facts.

"Why do you want to go to your old lab so badly?" Mike asked gently. "I'm glad you want to help with the memorial, but I'm having trouble believing that's your main incentive."

William squeezed his hands together and the lights in his eyes flickered.

"You can trust me, Dad," said Mike, reaching over to lay his hand on his father's arm. "You don't have to hide stuff from me." William reached out his hand as though he was going to place it on top of Mike's, but then he thought better of it and let it sink to the couch again.

"It's…complicated," William confessed. "B-but I need you to know that it's all f-for the f-family."

"I appreciate that," said Mike, "But I'm going to need a few more details as to why we need to go to your lab for the family."

"I-I can't…" William's voice trailed off and he looked up at the ceiling. Michael followed his line of sight but didn't see anything. He was squeezing his hands again and Mike thought that if he kept doing that, he was going to warp the metal joints and his hands wouldn't be able to open and close properly anymore. Michael waited patiently for him to finish. "I c-can't move on until…" William bowed his head, ears flopping forward. His metal shell shook, as though forcing the words out was extremely painful.

"Until you get closure?" offered Michael. William nodded silently. "Well, I definitely understand that."

Michael had gone to Freddy's, himself, looking for that same kind of closure. There was nothing wrong with his father needing to do the same, and it made sense that William would have a strong attachment to the lab that he and Henry had done so much of their work in. It bothered Mike to think that some of the work his father did in the lab was killing the children, and because of that, he really didn't want to go down there. The worry crossed his mind briefly that, if they went down there, it might bring out the violent insanity that had taken William over in the eighties and that he would start killing again, but Michael knew that wasn't likely. If being in the rabbit suit and being around children hadn't triggered his violent tendencies, then William was probably fine. And if he wasn't fine, well, Mike and Charlie would cross that bridge when they came to it.

"I-I want to get it over with," continued William. "I-I don't want this h-hanging over my head anymore." He looked up into Mike's eyes and the glass eyes of the animatronic held so much emotion they looked alive. "C-can you h-help me, p-please?"

When Mike had gone to Freddy's a couple days ago, he hadn't wanted Charlie there with him. He had wanted to struggle against his demons without an audience. William wanted to do the same, except he couldn't physically get himself to the lab, so he couldn't go alone. He needed the next best thing: his son, the one who had always helped him with Freddy's-related projects, who had watched the younger siblings, who had talked him down from more than one frenzied ledge. Michael was probably the only person left on earth that William trusted. William needed him to take him to the lab, to be with him as he processed his guilt and grief within that dusty tomb.

"Okay, Dad," said Mike with a smile. He patted his arm and stood up. "If you're ready, we can go and be back before Charlie returns with the kids."

"R-really?"

"Of course. Let me get my coat and we can be on our way."

"Thank you, Mike," said William, standing as well. "This means a lot to me. You won't regret it."

It makes me wonder when you say things like that, Mike thought. He knew taking William to the lab was dangerous in many different ways, one of which simply being taking him out in public. But if Michael was careful, if he kept a close eye on William and took precautions like bringing the ax along, everything should go all right. He thought about taking chains or something as well to serve as handcuffs, but dismissed the idea as overkill. William wanted to live with Michael and his family. Even if he were to get loose in the lab and run away, where would he go? What would he do? He was alone out in the rest of the world and William had always been terrified of being alone. He wouldn't run off and start killing people like in some slasher movie because without Charlie's father and without Freddy's, there wasn't any point.

Mike put on his coat and went outside to back his truck as close to the front door as possible. William was watching him from the kitchen window, still and unblinking. He knew taking his father to the lab wasn't a good idea, but his conscience told him that it was necessary. They should probably wait until Monday when both Charlie and the kids were gone for more of the day, but just like William, Mike wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He didn't want to wait two more whole days, knowing that the lab still existed. According to William, one of the entrances to the lab was underneath Mike's childhood home, which meant it wasn't too far of a drive from their current location. They could be there and back in a couple hours. If it turned out that William needed more time, they could either come back on Monday or Mike could give Charlie a call and explain the situation.

Mike thought of Charlie as he slipped the ax under the passenger seat. Her intuition was sharper than anyone Mike had ever met and she always did what she believed was right. She could have had an amazing career as a police detective if she wasn't already such a talented software engineer. Her accurate, sometimes cynical, understanding of people helped her recognize coding problems and solve them in creative ways. Charlie had grown up with suffering and she understood the power that words had to build up or tear down a person, and beyond that she understood the power of truth telling. She saw it as her responsibility—perhaps even her penance—to administer that truth like cough syrup to anyone sick with lies, as if a liar would willingly ingest that draught and become well.

She had offered that medicine to William many times already, but as far as Mike could tell, all it did was cause William to shrink deeper into himself, all his fears of not being accepted or forgiven confirmed. Charlie was right to stand up to him, but Mike's father couldn't stomach that kind of undiluted truth yet. William was a retaliator; he responded to emotions, not reason. When Mike had brought it up the night before as they lay in bed, Charlie understood and said that she would try to be a little softer with him. Like everyone else in this situation, Charlie was doing her best.

Mike opened the back seat door to his truck and gave his father a thumbs up through the window.

"Okay, Dad," he said, peeking inside. "Ready to go?"

"Y-Yes," William replied eagerly.

Mike moved out of the way to let him pass, but then stopped. He couldn't risk anyone seeing the animatronic. Unlike how it had been when Michael lived in an apartment in the city, cul de sac neighbors paid attention to each other.

"Wait here for a second," said Mike.

He ran inside and grabbed one of the fuzzy blankets from the couch. He helped William drape it over his head and shoulders. It didn't cover all of him, but it reached to his knees, and that was good enough. Michael helped him keep the blanket closed as he helped him climb into the back seat. The back seat of the truck was cramped, but if William laid on his back and bent his knees, Mike could get the door closed. He climbed into the driver's seat and looked back once more. William was swaddled in the blanket in the back seat, looking like a newborn bunny, if newborn bunnies were crazed with work stress and had trouble with rot.

"Doing okay?" asked Mike.

"I-I'm good," said William. "The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and get on with our S-Saturday."

"My feelings exactly," said Mike as he put the truck into drive.

"Do you own a barbecue by chance?"

Mike smiled. "A barbecue?"

"Y-yes. Breakfast got me in the mood for grilling. It's still warm enough to grill outside, isn't it?"

"I didn't know you liked barbecuing."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," laughed William. He stopped short and lifted his head up, realizing what he had just said. "I-I mean all good things, I promise," he amended. "Like f-favorite music and opinions on the s-stock market and…such. Adult stuff that we wouldn't have talked about when you were younger. Boring stuff. Not…"

"I know, Dad, calm down," Mike said, trying not to let on how much the statement had scared him. Even accidentally, it had been a little too true. "This is a father and son outing, right? Just a fun outing to an abandoned lab. Let's try to keep it light."

"R-right," agreed William. They were both silent for a long moment.

"So," said Mike, "What are your opinions on the stock market?"

William forced a laugh, trying to forget his previous statements. "It's a s-scam," he said. "Buy g-gold instead."

"I'll keep that in mind," Mike chuckled as they pulled into their old neighborhood.

The attempts at keeping things light had failed. The moment Michael turned onto his childhood street, a weight settled in the truck, as though the cabin had been filled with cold sand. The truck spluttered and refused to change gears, as though it didn't want to get too close to the old house either. William lifted up onto his elbow and looked outside at the houses passing by. Michael glanced in the review mirror to make sure William wasn't leaving himself too exposed to onlookers, but he wasn't. He was peering over the edge of the door, just high enough to see out, his green eye beams reflecting off the glass.

"I-it h-hasn't changed much," William mused.

Michael grunted in agreement. The curb Mike had chipped when he was learning to drive was still chipped, the next-door neighbor's house was still painted that awful mint color, the dog run across the street was still lying coiled up by the garbage can. The only things that had changed were that the trees had grown taller and the cars in the driveways had been upgraded.

Mike pulled the truck up the steep concrete driveway and parked it in front of the garage. Their house had remained untouched by everything except nature. The lawn hadn't been mowed. Moss had been steadily eating away at the roof and siding. The front flowerbed was still torn up from when the police had dug it up looking for bodies, and grass and weeds had settled into the new landscape. Old yellow crime scene tape was still stapled to the front doorframe and the strands that had broken loose fluttered in the breeze. Mike heard his father's suit whirring and trembling.

"We don't have to go inside if you don't want to," said Michael. He kind of hoped that William would change his mind and they could go home and pretend that the lab and house had caved in and faded out of existence.

"No," said William, sitting up and wrapping the blanket over his head. "I-I need to go inside. I need to face this."

Mike smiled sadly. "You're being very brave today, Dad," he said. "I'm proud of you."

"Th-thank you," William said quietly. "So, the entrance to the lab is in the b-basement."

"Shit," said Mike, "I don't have a key anymore."

"Don't worry about that," said William with a smug smile. "There are spares hidden everywhere. I d-doubt the police found all of them."

Michael helped William out of the truck and they went around back. After struggling through brambles tangled in with old machine parts, they were able to make it through the lopsided gate and into the overgrown back yard, a little further removed from the prying eyes of neighbors. William removed the blanket and began searching around the back door for the spare key. Mike wondered how many of their old neighbors still lived here; he wondered how many of them had died.

"Ah-ha!" William held up a corroded key and dropped the stepping stone back into place. "N-no one expects a key to be buried under the w-walkway."

Mike smiled and approached his father as he pulled the ivy away from the back door and put the key into the lock.

"How many keys did you hide?"

"Oh six or seven," said William. "I-I kept forgetting where I'd hidden them, but I always remembered this one." He handed the key to Mike and pushed the door open.

The inside of the house was cold, gray and stagnant, as though it was a TV left on pause since the 80s. The house had been torn apart and searched just like the flowerbeds. Cupboard doors were open and pots and pans were strewn across the kitchen floor. The tiny living room couch had been ripped apart and old stuffing sat in moldy piles on the carpet. Keepsakes and photographs had been taken from the walls and piled beside lamps on end tables. Picture frames had been dismantled and stacked against the wall.

Michael hadn't been around to witness what had been done to the house during the investigation because Uncle Carl had taken him in immediately to get him away from the madness. Once the investigation ran cold and the police had found all there was to find in the Afton house, Michael could have returned and put the house back together. He had inherited it and he could have moved in after high school or he could have sold it and used the money to establish himself. But he didn't want anything to do with the house and he definitely didn't want another family moving in and stepping all over his childhood, so he ignored it.

Instead, he shared a studio apartment with four people he barely knew. He worked the graveyard shift at the local 24-hour diner to put himself through trade school, then he added day shifts at the auto body shop and worked nearly around the clock even when he had enough money to afford a healthier work-life balance, as though he could turn his paychecks into walls so high he wouldn't have to see the outside world. Charlie had quickly broken him out of that obsession, though. She had her own trauma to deal with, but somehow she had been able to allow it to open her eyes instead of letting it bury her. She inspired him and showed him that maybe there could be a life after Freddy's.

"Jesus…" William buzzed. "T-they sure made a mess."

He crouched to pick up a picture that had been crushed underfoot many years ago; it was one of Elizabeth's school photos. No matter how much Michael had pleaded him growing up, William had always insisted on ordering multiple sets of school photographs for all three children every year, which he then put up on the wall in elaborate frames that said things like "Home Is Where The Heart Is." and "Family Matters." The photos he didn't put on the wall he gave out to anyone who showed the least bit of interest in his children, sometimes going so far as to return library books with wallet-sized photos tucked inside like bookmarks, hoping that the next person to check out the book, upon seeing Mike's goofy brace face, would be charmed and extremely jealous. He had hung them on the wall in a line to show how his children had grown, but when Elizabeth's and George's lines stopped short, their father had stopped too. William gently folded up the photo of Elizabeth and slipped it into his vest pocket.

Without another word, they walked down the basement stairs. The basement had been dismantled as well; boxes of books and supplies had been overturned and sifted through. Mike did his best not to step on any of his father's things, but William stepped on them without remorse, letting them crunch and break. In the dark, his control panel blinked green through his vest.

"The entrance is behind this shelf," he said, grabbing hold of an old metal shelf with boxes of greasy bolts and wires stacked on it. Mike helped him move it and William felt along the wall for a seam. "Ah," he said finally and pressed hard on the particleboard. A small square caved in and William pushed it aside in the wall. In the light from William's eyes, Michael could see him typing a code into a rusty old number pad. The wall hissed and a crack opened up between two of the fake wood panels. William closed up the number pad and pulled the wall open.

Michael didn't know what he expected to see behind the wall, but it wasn't the stainless steel tunnel that opened before them. He guessed he expected his father's secret laboratory to be a lot like his toolshed-turned-workshop above ground: a small room with low ceilings, a workbench and a pegboard with screwdrivers and soldering irons arranged by size and functionality. He didn't expect the long, metal hallway extending deep into the earth under the house.

"How the hell did you build all this without anyone knowing?" Mike asked.

"Henry and I just adapted what was already there," William replied. "There are sewer tunnels that run deep underneath this entire neighborhood and reach all the way to the Miller house. Henry discovered it one day looking through old records and found that an entire wing of the sewer had been blocked off by the city because of safety concerns." He hunched over and stepped inside the tunnel. "Blocking things off seems to be a popular method of dealing with problems in this town," he added under his breath.

"Safety concerns?" asked Mike.

"We'll be fine," said William. "Henry and I reinforced the walls with steel beams, which should still hold."

"That's reassuring," said Mike. He clicked on his flashlight and glanced back at the old basement disappearing from view as they traveled deeper underground.

Mike shone his flashlight down the tunnel but there was no end in sight. It was silent underground except for the occasional rumble of traffic and the creak of William's joints echoing off the walls as he lumbered clumsily down the hallway. Mike asked him how he managed to make it all the way to the lab and William scoffed and said that walking never killed anyone. Then, after a long pause he added that the path into the lab was shorter from Henry's house. Eventually the tunnel ended in another door with a number pad. William opened it up and typed in another code. The heavy metal door clicked unlocked and William pushed it open.

"How are all these gadgets still working?" asked Michael.

"Power lines," was all William said.

They were standing in a large circular room and it was then that Michael could see how this used to be a sewer. the walls were round, arched, and tall, made completely out of cement and, as William had mentioned, reinforced with steel. The floor was dry and fairly clean except for a layer of dust over everything. It was clear that the police hadn't found this place because the mess here was the same controlled mess that used to dominate his father's office and workshop at home. Tables were pushed against the wall with unfinished machine pieces on them. There were trays of bolts and half-welded motherboards. Safety glasses, heavy gloves and aprons hung from a coatrack in the corner. Bottles of disinfectant and boxes of rubber gloves sat on a nearby table. A shiver ran up Michael's spine and he glanced over at his father, the rabbit man who had killed and possibly dissected five children down here, if not more. His stomach turned sour and his heart thudded like an old motor.

William turned to say something to him but his ears sank in alarm. "Michael, w-what's wrong? Y-you're shaking."

Michael shoved his nervous hands into his pockets.

"I'm fine," he lied. "It's just a little creepy down here."

"Y-yes, I suppose it is," admitted William, straightening up and looking around the room. "I-it's not too bad when the lights are on. B-but it looks like the bulbs are b-burnt out. T-they should have come on by now."

Mike shone the flashlight beam around the room. The light glinted off some tiles differently than others and he realized that they were glass. They looked like windows. He stepped forward to the closest window and shone the light inside.

"Ah ah…" William said in alarm, quickly lowering the flashlight. "Not wise."

"What's in there?" asked Michael.

"An animatronic," William answered. "At least there used to be. A d-different model of Foxy. He's always g-given Henry and myself trouble." He pressed his face to the glass, looking around. "Hm…looks like he's gone. J-just as well."

"Dad," said Mike flatly, realizing how much danger they were in and how little his father cared. "There are living animatronics down here? You brought us into a tunnel with animatronics?"

"No," William laughed. "no, of course not, not l-living. They should be long since deactivated. I just…if Foxy was still functional, I didn't want him to s-scare you."

Michael wasn't convinced, but it was too late to turn back, so he shook it off. "Any other animatronics that I should be aware of?"

William picked nervously at one of his fingers. "Let's see…Henry and I…I think the total number that we had operational down here at the end was four, or four and a half." He looked around the room and Mike realized that they were surrounded by windows and therefore, by animatronics. Mike also realized that he had no cell service down here. He was truly alone with William and a team of other potentially hostile robots. "There was another version of Freddy and a little Bonnie puppet. T-that was my idea," William said almost gleefully, "a-and there was a ballerina, a-and…Circus—" He stopped. His eyes flickered and his limbs twitched. His hand closed on his pocket like a vice.

"You okay?" Mike asked.

It looked like the suit was malfunctioning. Springbonnie was jerking in half movements as though trying to perform the scripted motions from his old stage show. Mike kept his distance and backed towards a table where a few heavy wrenches lay, remembering that, like an idiot, he had left the ax in the truck. The suit continued to jerk and suddenly, William lost his balance and pitched forward. Michael ran over to help him. The suit was still twitching as William scrambled to get up off his face. Michael helped him to a seated position.

"Dad, what's going on?" asked Mike.

William's chest heaved like an echo of belabored breath. His fingers scraped against the floor, searching desperately for something to hold onto: a movement Mike recognized from his childhood. It had usually happened in the middle of the night and would wake Mike up, but one time it had happened at Freddy's on a busy Saturday afternoon. William had gone to the kitchen to put candles on a birthday cake and had never returned to the party room so Henry had sent Mike to check on him. In the kitchen, Mike had found his father wedged underneath one of the stainless steel tables hugging his knees tight to his chest, shaking, crying, gasping for air, with cake smeared up to his elbows.

Mike didn't know how William was having a panic attack now since he was dead and immune to brain chemicals, but the "how" didn't really matter. Mike scooted closer to him and put his hands on his shoulders comfortingly. Mike knew how to deal with panic attacks by now, having had enough of his own.

"Okay, Dad, breathe," Mike demonstrated long, drawn out breaths. "In and out. Slowly."

"I d-d-d-d-on't b-breathhhhe." William could barely get the words out.

"Pretend for me."

"Thsspringlocks are so t-t-tight hhelp I'm stuck oh g-god Mike I-I-I-I'm d-dying aaagain…"

"Focus on me, okay? Pretend you're breathing. In…and out. In…and out."

William's voice box made an artificial sighing sound and then another. His shoulders moved up and down in time with Michael's direction.

"Good, Dad, you're doing great, just a few more, okay?" He laid his hand on top of his father's to stop it from shaking. "In and out."

They breathed together for a while longer until the twitching and glowing faded away. William didn't say anything for a long time and Michael didn't press him. He just sat with him there in the dark, listening to the traffic overhead.

"Th-thank y-you," William said softly. "Sssorry."

"You don't have to apologize," said Mike.

"Y-you shouldn't have to see your d-dad like that."

"I've seen worse."

Silence. Cars overhead. Dust on the floor. The loud whirring inside the suit. A faint breeze sauntering down the tunnel.

"I-I-I don't w-want to be down here, Mike" said William. "I-I made a h-huge mistake. I shouldn't have come, a-and I shouldn't have brought you. F-fuck this place, I-I want to go back home." He tried to stand up, but his limbs still weren't responding correctly. "F-fucking suit! I want to leave right now."

"Okay, Dad, we will," said Mike. "Just relax a minute. Your suit probably just needs to recalibrate and then we'll walk right back out the way we came."

Something crashed somewhere deeper in the lab.

"What was that?" asked Michael, alarmed. William scanned the room carefully from his prone position.

"P-probably just a cave in," he said.

There was another crash, like the straining and breaking of metal.

"That wasn't a cave in," said Michael, standing, holding his flashlight tight. He wished now more than ever he had brought the ax with him. He crept to the window closest to the sound's source and peered inside.

William's suit clicked. "M-Mike, stay here with me, p-please," he said. He tried to put weight on his hands to climb to his feet, but the suit's circuitry was still cooling down from the previous overflow of stimuli and no amount of ghostly influence could override it. "It's not safe, please."

Mike didn't see any robots in the window, but that didn't mean anything. He looked back at his father. "There are working animatronics down here, aren't there? They aren't all offline," he said and William's panicked face confirmed it. He didn't want to hurt his father further, but he had to know, so he asked: "Are they possessed as well? By children?"

"No," William said quickly. Mike gave him a long, hard look. "Not exactly," he amended. "Not all of them," he amended further.

"What does that mean?" asked Mike.

Before William could answer, the lights in his eyes shut off, the whirring stopped, and he fell lifelessly onto his face. Mike ran over to check on him again, though he had a hunch as to what had happened. He pushed William onto his back and opened up the vest. The metal casing was hot to the touch. He shone the flashlight inside the large hole in his chest and saw that a small light on the back of the control panel was blinking red. After a long minute, another red light began blinking beside it. Like a computer, the suit had overheated, turned off, and was slowly rebooting; it was as simple as that. He wondered if William was still conscious or if this was as close to sleep as he was able to get.

"Dad?" he ventured. There was no response. The control panel clicked lazily and added another dot. Michael shrugged, leaving the vest unbuttoned to help the machinery cool off more quickly. "Sweet dreams," he said as he stood up and walked back over to the window.

Michael angled the beam of the flashlight into the sealed room so that it illuminated the far wall through the glass. There was nothing inside but a few old animatronic casings. He thought he saw something red glowing. He pressed closer to the glass and squinted, trying to see deeper. Whatever it was, he couldn't get the flashlight beam to land on it.

Something mechanical hissed a stone's throw away from him. Michael jumped back and shone the beam where he had heard it. A metal door, flush with the rest of the wall, had opened a crack. Thoughts of Freddy's flashed through his mind as he crept closer to the door. He thought about the night guard that had been killed in his father's restaurant and about the needlessly dangerous designs William and Henry had put into their robotic creations. Where animatronics were concerned, an open door meant death.

Mike squeezed his flashlight under his arm and, gripping the door with both hands, tried to pull it closed. The track the door ran on was rusty and he couldn't get it to budge. In fact, when he relaxed his pulling to give his muscles a break, it slid open further, like a slack jaw. He felt panic rising in his own mind. If he couldn't get it to close, then he needed to at least wedge something in the track so that it wouldn't open further because if there was an animatronic loose in here, it would take a lot more to fight it off than a flashlight and a wrench.

Holding the door closed with his foot, Michael reached for one of the boxes on the floor and yanked it closer. Inside it was a tangle of cables, eyes and robotic fingers. Nothing particularly helpful, but maybe the box itself was heavy enough to stop the door. He slid the corner of the box up onto the track and filled in the empty space between it and the wall with the cables. He shoved the cables into the moving parts of the door and, experimentally, he let go to see if it would hold. It slid open another inch, got caught on the cables, and stopped.

"Perfect," Michael whispered to himself triumphantly.

He glanced back at William, still out cold on the floor, looking like he belonged here with the other scraps. Michael's life had never been "ordinary," per say, but it struck him then just how strange it had become.

"Daddy?" A little girl's voice drifted through the darkness, scared but curious.

The blood froze in Mike's veins as he turned to look through the gap in the door. It was his sister's voice. He wanted to call out to her, but he couldn't form the words. He couldn't comprehend what he was hearing: not because he didn't recognize the voice but because he did. Even now, thirty years later, the voice of Elizabeth remained lodged deep in his memory.

"You've been away so long," said the voice.

The room with the glass windows was pitch black except for his flashlight beam.

"Elizabeth?" Mike called despite himself. "Is that you?"

"We didn't think you would be coming back," continued Elizabeth, "we thought you forgot about us."

"I could never forget about you," said Michael.

He leaned through the gap and into the dark room, shining his flashlight around. He pictured his sister, eight years old with her hair up in pigtails, hanging on William's arm as he and Mike tried to work in the workshop, begging for him to watch the pirouette-jeté combination move she had invented. He pictured his father promising to watch but failing to do so, and Elizabeth having to perform her special move multiple times. But once he actually watched, he let loose a big, loud laugh and picked her up with hands smudged with machine grease and bruises and bandaids, throwing her up above his head and praising how clever and talented she was.

He knew without a doubt that it was his sister's voice he was hearing, but what state would he find her in? She couldn't be alive, could she? She had died in an accident, just like George. But William had died in an accident as well. Perhaps she was trapped in an animatronic just like him. If so, it made sense that she wouldn't want him to see her.

"Where are you, Liz?" asked Michael.

"We're through here," answered the voice. "We're trapped, Daddy, please help us."

Michael squeezed through into the windowed room. "I'm not Dad, I'm Michael," he said.

"Sure you are."

"I am. Where are you? I'll get you out." Mike shone the flashlight beam around the room. There were pieces of animatronics in piles scattered in the corners. Mechanical cables were tangled all over the floor and Mike had to shine the flashlight at the floor to avoid tripping over them.

"You'll get us out?" asked the voice. It drifted around Mike's head, broken apart by the acoustics of the room. "You'll help us?"

"Of course," said Mike, stepping further into the room. "But who's 'we'? Who's with you?"

"Oh, we're all here," answered Elizabeth coyly. "Everyone you abandoned."

"I know you're probably angry at Dad, but we'll make it right," said Mike, searching for her. "I don't really understand how you're still down here, but a lot of things have happened lately that I didn't used to think were possible. We'll take you home and we'll work everything out. No matter what happened, you don't have to hide from me."

"Don't have to hide?" asked Elizabeth. "That's funny coming from you." Mike heard scraping and realized that the door was closing. He lunged forward to stop it, but his legs were tangled up in the cables. "You're the one that hid us down here in the first place. As though you were ashamed of us, as though you didn't love us anymore. As though you thought you could lock us away and have a do-over."

Mike yanked at the cables, trying to get his feet out before the door sealed. He pried an especially tight one off of his ankle but as soon as he did, it lashed out and grabbed him again. A glowing robotic eye looked up at him from the mass of cables and Mike heard the door shut and lock.

"But you came to save us, and we're really grateful for that. We've been waiting so long for you."

A fluorescent white light switched on and blinded him. When Mike's eyes adjusted, he saw a long, metal arm extending down from the ceiling towards him.

"I'm not William," he said again, pulling desperately. "Please, Liz, get ahold of yourself. Whatever you're thinking of doing, stop." He thought of George, he thought of the bite. He thought of the springlock suits. "I have a family."

The cables wrapped thicker around his legs. He lost his balance and fell backwards. When his hands touched the cables, they wrapped tightly around his wrists. The metal arm with the sharp scoop at the end stopped at chest height.

"Not anymore," said Elizabeth. "We're sorry it has to be this way, Daddy, but we really need a body." To Mike's horror, he realized the voice was coming from the cables. "And besides, you brought this on yourself."

There was a beep and then in one fluid motion, the scoop plunged into Mike's stomach and ripped him open.

* * *

A/N: And just like that, everything changed.


	8. From My Mouth

A/N: Content warning: There's quite a bit of gore in this chapter. Ennard isn't exactly family friendly.

Dinosaur: Nope, nice things are off limits in FNAF. Mostly because of Willy boy. But maybe, if he can stop destroying things for one second, things can maybe get sorta nice?

* * *

"GOOD MORNING! SPRINGBONNIE IS ONLINE~"

The suit's announcement died away in echoes off the concrete ceiling and William opened his eyes to a dark lab. He put a hand to his head and groaned; he felt like his brain had been roasted on electrified wire spits. How long had he been out? Mike was nowhere in sight. For one awful moment, William thought he had gone dark for another couple of decades like the first time, and Mike, unable to revive him, had left him down here and returned to his family. The children would be adults with children of their own and Mike…he'd be in his mid sixties. Maybe he had been down here even longer than that and Mike and Charlie had already died of old age, maybe their kids too.

He sat up in a panic, looking for some indication of the date. Looking down at himself, he realized that his vest had been unbuttoned. The vest was still a bright purple, without sign of dust or aging. He hoped that meant he couldn't have been down here for all that long: a week at most. William climbed to his feet and scanned the room.

"M-Mike?" he called. No one answered but the echo of his own voice. "Shit."

At least the door to the tunnel had been left open. He could wait until nighttime and then he could walk to Mike's house. Hopefully he hadn't been gone too long this time. He walked over to the desk by the far wall, the one covered with blue prints, with crayon drawings tacked on the wall above it. He crouched and felt along the underside and his fingers brushed against something cylindrical taped behind the drawer. Ha! he thought. The remnant. He carefully pried it loose from the tape and put it into his pocket. Henry may have already found another way to leave Mike and Charlie's house, but William didn't want the trip to the lab to be an entire waste of time.

He started towards the tunnel when a white light exploded to life in one of the windowed rooms. He turned and saw that it was coming from the room Henry had so eloquently named the "Scooping Room." It was the room where old animatronic casings that had been warped and melted by remnant experiments were forcefully removed from their endoskeletons by an industrial-strength assembly-line type robotic arm. William didn't appreciate calling it the scooping room because of what had happened to Elizabeth, but Henry had told him, as he had many times before, to lighten up; it had been over a year, Henry had said, and parents weren't going to bring their children to see a depressed rabbit. It was time to move on and look to the future. Looking back now, William felt that Henry had been a little harsh.

He crossed the room towards the window, curious as to what had tripped the light, and he heard a sound he would hear for the rest of his afterlife. The scream was raw as gravel and feral with panic and pain: Michael. The jagged sound waves pierced William's audio sensors and he jumped to attention, ready to dismember whatever was causing his son to make such a noise.

He pressed his face to the glass to see inside. Even though William had seen plenty of gore in his day, nothing compared to what he saw on the floor of the scooping room. His son was lying on his back with his limbs tangled in endoskeleton cables, and his ribs and abdomen had been bisected like a canyon of red flesh, like a quivering venus flytrap, like carrion. Once the cables realized their prey wasn't putting up a fight anymore, they released his arms and legs and coalesced into a vaguely human shape, speckled with glowing eyes. And as if that wasn't bad enough, that skeleton, that goddamned parasite, began snaking its tendrils into the gap where Mike's intestines used to be.

"Mike!" William slammed his fists on the window. "Hey! You stay the fuck away from him, do you hear me!" The eyes looked up at him in vague surprise, then continued their descent. William banged his fists harder. "Stop!" The cables ignored him and continued spooling inside Mike; William could see them inching up behind his ribs. Mike's cloudy eyes locked with his father's. William knew that look. Fear and pain were exhausting and Mike's strength was draining away with his blood. He just wanted it to end, even if that meant letting it happen.

"Mike, hold on!" William shouted. He ran on shaking legs over to the door. Someone had shoved cables in the track and he ripped them out with renewed strength. He yanked on the door handle, trying to get it to budge, but it was locked tight. He typed in the code, incorrectly at first and then correctly. The door hissed and unlatched, but still refused to open wide enough to let him through. His weak shoulder groaned under the pressure as he pulled, but he didn't slow down. He would get into that room if he had to gnaw through the goddamn wall.

The gap in the door bent a little wider. William shoved his shoulder through and stopped the door from closing with his metal torso. From there, it wasn't hard to force the rest of himself into the room, though he lost large tufts of fur in the process. William threw himself inside and the door snapped closed behind him. He scrambled up to his feet, ears back, knees bent, ready to kick the shit out of that unwound endoskeleton, but it was nowhere to be found. William thought briefly that it was hiding, but then he saw the skin of Mike's abdomen pinching together and a tiny needle poking in and out like a stinger, trailing a line of black thread. William wasn't physically able to vomit anymore, but the nausea sat in his bones. That thing was sewing itself inside Mike, like some kind of horrific self-transplanting organ.

"No you fucking don't!" William slid to his knees beside Mike and stuck his hand into his chest, forcing the endoskeleton to stop sewing. He felt around until he found one of the cables and he pulled it like he was dislodging a leech.

Mike inhaled a bubbling gasp of fresh pain that made William hesitate. The cables in Mike's body stiffened and hooked deeper. William realized that they were already twisted around his bones from his arms down through his legs. From the purple light that sometimes passed behind his eyes, William realized the cables were in his head, too.

"Leave us alone, Bonnie," said a voice from inside Mike's chest. The cable he was grabbing shocked him and William yanked his hand out in reflex. "If you keep pulling like that, you'll kill him. We will not give him up."

William recognized the voice immediately and froze, clutching his zapped hand to his chest. It was Elizabeth's voice, still the voice of a little girl, the same age as she was when the accident with Circus Baby had occurred. William had suspected that she had gone on to possess Circus Baby, though Circus Baby's movement and tone of voice rarely matched Elizabeth. Still, he had always made it a point to make sure that the animatronic's room had coloring books and stuffed animals inside, just in case Elizabeth really was still in there. He had checked the coloring books every so often, but the pages had remained bare.

"Elizabeth?" William asked softly. He didn't understand why she was a mess of cables now and why she was doing this to Mike. "Is that you?"

The needle finished its work and William's opportunity to pull the monstrosity out had passed. Now, if he wanted to remove it, he would have to cut Mike open again.

"Yes, that's one of our names," replied Elizabeth. "How do you know us?"

"B-Because…" William realized that there was no way she would have recognized him. "It's me. It's…I'm your dad. William. I know you probably don't recognize me because of the suit."

Mike tensed up and his eyes glowed a bright purple.

"No," demanded Elizabeth. "You're not. This body is our dad. We picked it to wear because this one is Daddy."

"Th-that's your brother, Michael," William replied.

"This is Daddy and you're one of the Bonnies."

"Lizzie, I can assure you I'm your father," insisted William, keeping a worried eye on Michael. He didn't have long now and talking was the only thing that had a chance at saving him; a chance at getting Elizabeth to let go of him. "That p-poor man you have there is Michael."

"No!" she shouted. Michael's body lurched to a seated position, but Michael himself no longer looked conscious. "This is our father and you're just a stupid, lying rabbit."

"Lizzie—"

"It has to be him, because he has to hurt. Like we hurt." There was no sound for a moment except the quiet drip of the scoop. "We hate you, Daddy."

William had thought being trapped alone in Fazbear's Fright had been his lowest moment, but he had been wrong. At least when he was there, he could lie on his back and stare up through the crack in the ceiling and fantasize about when all his children were still alive and loved him. Before that, he had thought being trapped in the Springbonnie suit was his lowest point. But his life careened downward at a breakneck speed, lower and lower, visiting ever worsening horrors on him, as though the vengeance of the children he had killed had dissolved into the fabric of his remaining time on earth. He couldn't take it any longer.

He unbuttoned his vest and exposed the large hole in his chest like a door. "I-If you need someone to hurt, y-you can hurt me," he said. "You can take my body, I-I won't fight."

"You're an animatronic now so that would defeat the purpose," responded Elizabeth. "It's too late anyway. The plan's ruined and we just gotta go with how it is now." Mike's body rose to its feet and took a shaky step forward, then another. "Stay here and die for real, please, Daddy." The words were cruel but her tone was sorrowful. "We don't need you anymore."

William sat numbly on the floor and watched them walk past, completely at a loss for what to do. If he fought Elizabeth, it would hurt Mike, as well as Elizabeth. But he couldn't let them just go outside like that. They would get picked up by the police or get themselves killed—or re-killed—by something. William didn't know exactly what he expected would happen, but he knew none of it was good.

"Hey, E-Elizabeth," he said. She stopped walking. "I-I'm sorry I swore at you. C-can we please just talk, for Mike's sake? W-why do you need a body so badly?"

She turned to face him and William saw something rising from Mike's shoulders like steam. His first thought was that the endoskeleton was hot and it was cooking him, but on further inspection, it wasn't exactly steam. It was hazy and white, like impossibly thin silk. It rose like a sheet from his arms, his shoulders and his head, and as it rose, it began to take shape. The steam formed two hollow eyes.

Oh god, he was seeing Mike's ghost. Mike was dying at that very moment and once his spirit detached from his body, he would be gone forever. Panic ignited in William's chest and he knew he had to do something—anything—to stop it. Without thinking, he grabbed the syringe of remnant out of his pocket and tackled Mike's broken body to the floor. Elizabeth thrashed at him but William was too fast. He injected all the remnant into Michael's chest, praying that it would do something.

It did. Mike's spirit careened back into his body and the life returned to his eyes. Then the screaming began. Mike curled in on himself like a beetle, gasping, then arched back. His desperate cries had a harsh artificial undertone to them as they mixed with Elizabeth's own weeping. Standing at a safe distance, William clutched the empty syringe to his chest and watched.

In theory, remnant was, at its core, souls that had been unraveled and combined into a physical liquid. It actually was spinal fluid taken from the children on the cusp of death mixed with molten metal taken from Chica, the first known possessed animatronic. When they were combined under extreme heat, for some reason the metal never solidified, even at room temperature. As with all paranormal topics, William and Henry didn't understand why or how it did what it did. What they did know was that, for some reason, when remnant was injected into an animatronic, it made that animatronic more likely to accept a permanent possession.

When injected, some of the robots, even ones that hadn't had dead children stuffed inside them, began to function separate from their programming, as though they had souls. Henry thought what they had discovered was life in a bottle but William thought it was probably closer to ghosts in a bottle. Either way, he hoped the miracle solution would stop Mike from dying, even though there was no way Mike should be able to go on living after what the endoskeleton had done to him. But Mike had to survive because William needed him to. If he didn't, William didn't know what he would do.

There was a long time of Michael and Elizabeth screaming and groaning and squirming on the floor and of William standing as still as taxidermy, watching them with an unwavering stare, clenching the syringe so tightly the glass cracked, waiting to see if his gamble would pay off or if he had just murdered his last remaining son.

Ever since William had gone to live with Mike and his family, he had been struck again and again with how grown up his boy looked. How responsible, how kind, how resourceful, how…fatherly. He had turned into the kind of man that brought children who had gotten separated from their parents at amusement parks to the guest services desk. But now, watching Mike writhing in pain on the floor, he looked like a child, lost and scared, afraid to die, helplessly suffering for his father's mistakes. And all William could do was watch.

Whether the pain began to subside or Mike just got tired of responding to it, eventually he stopped crying and he lay face up on the floor like a corpse. His glowing purple eyes stared up at the ceiling, unfeeling, unthinking.

"M-Mike?" William asked tentatively. Mike didn't respond, so William slowly approached, as though sneaking up to a wild animal.

Michael took in a tinny breath, held it for a long time in his chest, then let it back out. He continued to stare up at the ceiling, as though it was the most important part of the room. The skin on his chest had boiled and melted around the spot where William had stuck the needle in and it looked like it would leave a nasty scar, but next to the hasty line of black stitches that held him together like a zipper, William didn't think the needle scar would be all that noticeable.

"Are you okay?" William knew it was a stupid question, but he had to know Mike wasn't going to keel over and die. The thought struck him that maybe the endoskeleton had broken his spine and that's why he wasn't answering him. "C-can you move? How do you feel?"

Mike's head flopped to one side and his piercing, bloodshot eyes locked with William's. "I…" The word came out as a gurgle and he cleared his throat. "I have a goddamn robot inside me," he said. "How do you think?"

William couldn't stop the relieved smile from spreading across his face, even though the smile was mostly just in his mind. His boy was still in there. Still coherent, still alive, still Michael. "W-We'll get her out, don't worry."

"No, you won't." Elizabeth's voice was staticky and faint, damaged by the remnant. The voice was coming from Mike's mouth, but his lips didn't move. He sat up and William grabbed his shoulders to steady him, warning him to take it slow.

"What…did you inject into me?" asked Mike, holding his head as though it was too heavy for his neck to support.

"Henry and I call it 'remnant,'" replied William. "It's what we were researching down here back then. It's like, uh, life in a bottle. I thought it might keep you alive."

Michael looked at his shaking, torn-up hands. The bones were knobby and misshapen, squeezed and possibly broken by the cables that had been braided through them. "_Am_ I alive?" he asked.

"O-of course!" said William. "You're up and talking, aren't you? You're breathing and…and you're still in your body."

"I feel wrong," said Michael. He clenched his fists, testing out the joints. He opened them and closed them again.

"Wrong, how?"

"Like I skipped over death," said Michael, staring. "Like I cheated."

"We did cheat," said William happily. "We cheated death together. We won and now everything is going to be okay and we can go…" He trailed off, thought of Charlie and the kids, and realized that going home wasn't possible.

There was no way William could allow Michael to return to his family with Elizabeth inside him. Maybe it was hypocritical of William to think so, but letting him go home like this was dangerous, for both Mike and his family as well as for Elizabeth. He had been focused on saving Michael, but the fact was that, even though Elizabeth had been reduced to sentient mechanical cables, she was still his daughter. He needed to save her too, somehow.

Maybe he could build her a new body. There were still animatronic shells down here, surely. She had rejected Circus Baby's body for some reason, but maybe he could build her a vessel that she would consent to inhabit. Then, when she left Michael, they could all three go home and grill burgers and corn on the cob in the backyard. And Henry would see how happy they were and he'd forget about bodies and research and needing to leave and he'd join in as well. And they'd live that way forever.

"We can go home," said William. "Just as soon as we separate Elizabeth from you."

"That's not going to happen, Daddy," said Elizabeth. Mike yelped in surprise when his body stood up on its own. "We made a plan and we are going to stick to it, whether this body is our brother's or not. We don't care what you think."

William stood up as well, fuming. He was determined to get back to his perfect life with Mike's family, even if he had to pry the endoskeleton out of Mike piece by piece, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Surely, Elizabeth wanted to be part of a family again and if she didn't, it's just because she had convinced herself of some foolish fantasy of revenge and independence. Animatronic or not, she was still only eight years old, for god's sake. She wasn't old enough to make such a dramatic decision. He was her father and he knew best. He could take care of this without resorting to physical force, he just had to remember back to his parenting days and remember how he dealt with it when his children told him "No."

"You are being horrible to your brother and you need to remove yourself from his body right now," said William. His dad-voice was rusty but it came back easier than he expected it would.

"No," said Elizabeth. "You can't tell us what to do anymore."

"Elizabeth Grace, I am going to count to three, and you'd b-better be out of there before I'm done."

Mike's arms crossed in defiance. "We aren't a child anymore," said Elizabeth. "That won't work on us."

"One…two….."

Michael stayed perfectly still, watching William anxiously, waiting for the endoskeleton to burst out of his chest, but nothing happened. William extended the "two" for as long as he could, but it was clear Elizabeth was playing the long game. That's okay, he knew that game well. He had played it plenty of times with all three of his children.

"Three," William finished. "Fine. You're in time out. You don't get to go outside until you leave your brother alone."

Elizabeth stomped Mike's foot. "You can't do that," she huffed. "That's not fair!"

"It's plenty fair," William replied, opening the door to the scooping room. "I'll be back in an hour and we'll try again."

Mike hurried for the door, but Elizabeth couldn't move him quickly enough. William made it out into the main room and closed and locked the door. He grabbed a crowbar from one of the desks and wedged it in the door before Elizabeth made it over. The door beeped when she typed in the code and it tried to whoosh open, but the crowbar held it tight.

"Daddy!" she shouted as she banged on the door. "Daddy, this isn't fair! Let us out!"

When William was sure the door would hold, he shuffled to a nearby wall, scooted the junk out of the way until there was enough space for him, and slid slowly to the floor. Who was he kidding? He didn't know best. He didn't know anything and he had no idea how to handle this. He wished Henry was here to show him what to do, but he was also afraid that he would tell him to leave them locked up here and move on.

He couldn't think straight. Thoughts of his children and Henry, thoughts of Charlie and Beth and Sammy, buffeted him from all sides and demanded an immediate and immaculate solution. He imagined the locked door to Henry's tunnel opening and Henry walking in, hands in his pockets and a pitying smirk on his face. You couldn't deal with this yourself, Willy? he imagined him saying before rolling up his sleeves and walking into the scooping room to sort everything out for him. William almost removed the crowbar, himself, just to make sure Michael and Elizabeth were still okay and that Henry hadn't taken them apart. But that was ridiculous and he knew it, even though he couldn't get the scene out of his head.

They were still okay—as okay as they could be in this situation—because William still heard them banging against the door. He needed to calm down, stop thinking about nonsense and start thinking of a solution. With a shaky sigh, he buried his head in his knees, folded his arms over his ears to block out Elizabeth's cries, and did the breathing exercises Mike had taught him.

William had no idea how to tell if it had been an hour, but when it seemed like he had sat on the floor and processed an hour's worth of simulated breathing, he stood up and quietly removed the crowbar. He slid the door open, stepped inside, and closed it again. Mike was huddled defensively against the far wall, fists crowned with bloody knuckles shielding his head. William didn't like seeing him like that and he just wanted to give into Elizabeth's demands so they could stop fighting. But he had always disliked disciplining his children, which is why they had all turned out so headstrong, especially Elizabeth; she knew that if she just kept pushing, eventually her daddy would give in and give her what she wanted. But William couldn't let that happen this time.

"Elizabeth, have you thought about what you've done?" asked William.

Mike's head swiveled to face William; he wasn't looking well at all. His skin had gone a sickly greenish pale and now sagged under his eyes. He looked undead, William observed but quickly pushed the thought away. Even if Elizabeth wasn't doing it on purpose, the endoskeleton was causing serious damage to Mike's body and William worried if it stayed in much longer, it would cause irreversible cosmetic problems. If you figure out how to function without intestines, no one has to know; but if your fingers and nose fall off to reveal metal tentacles underneath, people would talk.

"Yes, Daddy," Elizabeth said through Mike's mouth. Mike stood up and faced him, glowing purple eyes piercing through him. "We've thought about what we've done."

A chill went up William's spine. "A-and are you going to remove yourself from Michael?"

Mike smiled but it wasn't Mike. "No," said Elizabeth sweetly. "You'll have to kill us, like you killed all those children."

"Liz," Mike wheezed painfully, looking like a scarecrow on a pole, "please—"

"Shut up," said Elizabeth. "You always take his side."

"I'm not—" Breath. "—taking his side. I just—" Breath. "—want to see my family again."

William balled his hands into tight fists and squeezed them by his sides, directing his nervous energy somewhere that wouldn't do any harm. She wasn't actually going to make him pull her out like a parasite, was she? He wasn't even sure he could do that without destroying Michael in the process. He realized, then, that this wasn't just an afterlife-version temper tantrum. Elizabeth had seen William and Henry down here in the middle of the night. She had seen the children come in alive bound with rope and leave in garbage bags. While William and Henry perfected remnant, synthesized and tested it on children and animatronics, she had watched.

Going outside wasn't the only reason Elizabeth had taken Mike's body; as she had said, she had wanted to take William's body instead. To torture and control him like he had done with the robots and the children until, like them, he finally succumbed to his wounds and died in fear and pain. When she said he'd need to kill her to make her stop, William believed her and something tightened in his gut.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," said William. "I wish I could make this better."

Elizabeth approached him in janky, artificial steps. "You can make this better by getting out of our way," she said. "If you don't, we will take you apart." She said it simply, scientifically, as though it was nothing personal. She got so close to him that William could hear the mechanical clicking in Michael's head. "Get out of the way, or we will tear your arms off," Elizabeth clarified when William didn't respond.

William stepped back. "C-Calm down Lizzie, o-okay? We can w-work this out. But in the meantime, you have to understand that y-you can't go outside like this. N-not wearing Michael like some kind of onesie. If you can be patient, I'll design you a new body. One that can go o-outside without anyone realizing you're—"

Michael's arm cracked like a whip and his hand clasped William's throat. It was hard and precise and much stronger than Michael's natural grip. William clawed at the hand as it squeezed tighter, springlocks and cables and bone crunching under the strain. He felt himself being lifted and he scraped his metal feet desperately against the floor, trying to anchor himself.

"Liz," said Michael, looking just as panicked as William. "Don't do this…please."

William's eyes flickered and shorted, his vision going in and out as the wires connecting the animatronic eyes to the control panel got dangerously close to being disconnected. But Elizabeth wouldn't be dissuaded. William felt the pitted vertebrae in his neck separating and he realized how delicately his head had been attached to begin with. William's head swam with piercing purple light. Maybe, he thought, after she killed him, she would leave Mike alone.

"We're so weak," Elizabeth said, disappointed.

William was flung back and he hit the floor hard; his face crashed against the concrete and jostled his eyes back into working order. Shoes shuffled across the floor.

"Liz, stop," said Mike, "Don't!"

The door beeped and slid open and, after a long second, the wires in William's brain connected and he realized what was happening. With difficulty, he righted himself so he could see the door. Michael was standing halfway out the door, gripping the doorway with all the strength he could muster in his muscles and bones. He was looking back at William, eyes glowing a frantic purple as his body pulled towards the main room.

"Dad," he said, the muscles in his jaw quivering under the strain.

"Mike!" William scrambled to his feet and limped towards the door. "Elizabeth, stop this!"

Elizabeth flashed a smile just as Mike's fingers lost their grip and she slipped out into the main room. The door closed and locked and William heard the sound of the crowbar being wedged in the track along with many boxes. William pulled frantically against the door.

"Dammit Elizabeth!" His voice box cracked and fizzed. "He h-has c-children!"

"What do you care?" Her voice floated outside the door.

The light inside the scooping room flicked off into darkness and Elizabeth said nothing more. Twin purple lights passed in front of the window, heading towards the exit, and the heavy door to the tunnel shut and locked. William was left alone.

* * *

A/N:

Michael: Dad, she's hitting me!

Elizabeth: Am not!

William: Enough! You're both grounded.

Elizabeth and Michael: But Dad!

William: You better start getting along soon or I'll set us all on fire, I swear to gosh...

_(Things are a little heavy, huh? Don't worry the fluff's coming back, I promise!)_


	9. Ice Cream Social

A/N: Content Warning: Some gore, but less than the previous chapter. Just more Elizabeth/Ennard and Michael stuff. It's happier in this chapter, just still a little gross. Finally some family feels. Also, mild implication of abuse between Henry and William.

Also, a scene from Charlie's point of view!

* * *

When Charlie pulled into the driveway, she was surprised to see Mike's truck gone. Running off without giving her a heads up wasn't normally like him, but the re-emergence of Fazbear's made them both a little crazy, and she couldn't fault him for that. Though, that meant that Mike had left William locked up in their garage without supervision, which Charlie didn't appreciate.

She took longer than normal putting the SUV into park as she stared at the garage, calculating what she should do. William seemed like he was at least trying to rehabilitate, but she still didn't trust that he hadn't broken himself out and was roaming around inside their house like one of the animatronics at Fazbear's after hours. Exactly like that, actually.

Charlie put the car into park and turned off the motor. Beth already had her seatbelt off and had her hand on the door, ready to fly into the house. "Hey guys," said Charlie, "Wait here for a second, okay? I need to check something."

"What's wrong?" asked Beth.

That was Beth's new thing: asking what was wrong. Charlie didn't know if it was a product of their life that things went wrong, or if it was just part of growing up and becoming more empathetic. Whenever she asked Charlie what was wrong, Charlie realized how much she had grown up. It felt like just last week that Beth was learning to walk; eleven years really wasn't that long at all.

"Is it a burglar?" asked Sammy, mystified, leaning on the center armrest. That was Sammy's new thing ever since they had watched Home Alone. He thought burglars were hiding behind every bush and garbage can, waiting to sneak through the windows of the houses of unsuspecting families. There was a lot more violence in that movie than Charlie remembered and they probably shouldn't have let Sammy see it.

"No, nothing like that," said Charlie. "I just want to make sure we don't surprise Grandpa Will in case he's sleeping on the couch." That seemed to satisfy them—after all, grandpas fell asleep on couches all the time—so Charlie got out of the car and walked to the front door.

Charlie opened the door, made sure her children were staying put in the car, and then entered the house. She quickly closed the door behind her and locked it.

"Mike?" she called into the family room, but no one was there.

She walked up the stairs and called again. The upstairs remained dark and quiet. She went to the back yard but he wasn't there either. The only consolation for Charlie as she wandered through the empty house was that at least Mike had had the sense to leave William locked up in the garage. As she approached the garage door, she didn't hear any thumping, whirring or talking and she imagined William sitting in the comfy chair, staring dead-eyed at the door, perhaps waiting for someone to come in and check on him, perhaps not thinking anything at all.

The image creeped her out and she checked beside the door and then in the coat closet for the ax, but it was nowhere to be found, so she grabbed a steak knife from the knife block instead. It wouldn't behead a rampaging robot, but if plunged into his eye, it would at least give her an extra half-second to get out of his reach.

Charlie went to unlock the garage, but found that it hadn't been locked in the first place. She turned the knob and pushed it in, half-expecting an ambush.

"Mike?" she called quietly. "William?"

There was no answer, no sound of movement, so she opened the door fully. The garage was as uncomfortably serene as an empty warehouse, emphasis on "empty." Charlie turned on the light to chase away any shadows William might be hiding in, but even with the shadows gone, William didn't materialize. Both he and Mike were gone. She supposed that they might have gone somewhere together as a bonding experience, perhaps back to Fazbear's Fright, but Charlie couldn't make herself believe that it was something so wholesome.

Mike's father was William Afton after all, the rat in human clothing who had fooled hundreds of people into thinking he was nothing more than the owner of a family restaurant. And Charlie was a Miller, so she knew a thing or two about manipulation. Whether William had convinced Mike to drive him somewhere or he had hurt him, stashed him, and taken his keys, Charlie knew that Mike was in trouble. She could feel it in her gut, but still she hoped that she was wrong. Mike wasn't stupid, but people were less careful around their own family.

Charlie took her cellphone out of her jacket pocket and dialed Mike. It rang, rang, rang, then went to voicemail. She left a quick message along the lines of "William's gone, where are you?" and ended the call. She looked around the room, hoping that she had missed something, but there was nothing to see. Just a heavy sense of being watched. She opened the address book on her phone and scrolled through the file she kept with the numbers of the parents of Beth and Sammy's school friends. She exited out and went to her close contacts file, the file she kept of people she knew she could depend on no matter what, and dialed the one at the top.

"Jessica?" she said when her old friend picked up the phone. "How's it going?"

"Charlie!" Jessica answered on the other line. She said it with the same thrilled and playfully frustrated tone she always used when answering calls from her. "Long time no see! You and Mike preparing for retirement yet?"

"Ha ha," Charlie said flatly, "it's only been a few weeks since we last talked."

"Try a few months," corrected Jessica with laugh. "Anyway, what's up?"

"Too much to explain right now." Charlie looked around the room, searching for what or who was watching her and making her skin crawl. Why did it feel so familiar? "Mike's not answering his phone and I need someone to take the kids for a few hours while I check a couple places he might be at. Are you at home?"

There was rustling on the other line and the jingle of a shop door. "No, but I can be home in ten. God, Charlie, do you think he's in danger?"

"I hope not," said Charlie and her heart began to pound, realizing just how much danger her husband might be in.

"Have you called the police?"

"Not yet," Charlie answered. "But I will if I don't find him by tonight."

"Okay. Well, Beth and Sammy are always welcome. They can stay overnight, too, if that would be helpful," Jessica said, then added: "Mike's probably just at Sloan Lake like last time, sitting on the dock with a cup of coffee, completely unaware he's making you worry."

"Thanks Jessica, I really hope so," said Charlie, wondering why she didn't call her more often. In any other circumstance, Charlie would have agreed with her about Mike sneaking off to be alone with his thoughts, but the fact that William was gone as well made that scenario extremely unlikely. "I'm hoping it'll just be a couple hours, but I appreciate it."

"It's no problem. See you soon?"

"We'll be there in about an hour," said Charlie. "Thanks again."

Charlie ended the call and put the phone back into her pocket. She scanned the garage once more for the source of her unease, then went into the kitchen, locking the garage door just in case. She splashed cold water on her face from the sink and patted it off with a dishtowel. With a deep breath, she returned to the car.

"I've got a surprise for you two!" she announced, opening the car door. "We're going over to see Aunt Jessica."

Sammy cheered but Beth asked why.

"Your dad is out with Grandpa working on Freddy's and I'm going to meet them there," she replied, hoping that was true. "Let's pack up some fun stuff to do with Aunt Jessica and then we'll head right over."

When the kids went up to their rooms to pack, Charlie went into the upstairs bathroom and packed their toothbrushes, just in case. She'd check Fazbear's Fright first and if they weren't there, she'd start checking their old houses.

—

Mike's body was in agony, but it was a far-away agony that was alarming in its remoteness. As Elizabeth wrenched his bones forward, forcing him to walk down the long tunnel towards the exit, it felt like there was a lag between the source of the pain and the pain itself. As though it was a digital image that had gotten lost between the sender and receiver and when it finally arrived, it was distorted and faint.

It was this pain that made Mike believe he wasn't actually dead yet, just broken and unnaturally resilient. The tunnel seemed longer now than it had when he and William had walked down it a few hours ago. If this walk didn't kill him, if the robot inside him didn't kill him, he didn't think anything would, and that was a terrifying thought.

"I know you think we're evil for doing this, but we have to," said Elizabeth after a long stretch of silence.

Mike looked up at the hazy grayness of the entrance to the basement looming up ahead.

"I don't think you're evil," Mike whispered back, "you're just angry, and I can't blame you. Dad shouldn't have done what he did."

"He's a monster," said Elizabeth.

"Maybe, but he's still our dad."

"No he's not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too," said Mike. "Times infinity."

Elizabeth paused. "Is not, infinity times infinity," she said.

Mike couldn't help smiling, though he felt a little like crying underneath. "That doesn't exist, Liz."

"It does now."

Against all odds, Michael did not collapse and they made it out of the tunnel and into the basement. They were greeted by the mess of the old, overturned files and boxes, now bathed in the purple glow from Elizabeth's eyes.

"This is our house," said Elizabeth pensively. "The lab was under our house the whole time?"

Mike's body crouched down awkwardly and picked up an old drawing of a bear and a rabbit that Mike immediately recognized as George's. Elizabeth had died before George, which had been a small mercy because at least she hadn't had to wade through the special kind of hell of losing a sibling. It crossed Mike's mind that she might not even know George had died. But then, it sounded like she had watched their father and Henry in the lab; surely William would have brought up George at some point. She had seen them do most of their experiments. She had watched as her father—the same father who always allowed her to have two scoops of ice cream instead of one— killed children in the dark. Seeing him do that had broken her, as it had all the Aftons whether they knew it or not.

Their mother had left in the middle of the night, a suitcase in each hand, rain thundering. Mike had been lying in bed listening to her and William shout at each other, about children and lies and threats and cheating and obligations and "Please don't go" and "It's just too much, William, you're too much." If their mother hadn't left when she did, she would have been pulled in and transformed as well. After that, Mike and his siblings saw her once a year at Christmas, and then things started coming up. She started having to work over the holidays and promised they'd reschedule, but they never did. Years came and went and they stopped visiting.

William stopped talking about her and filled the hole she left with Henry. Mike used to resent her for leaving but as he got older, he realized she had left for her own good. Maybe she refused to take the children because she had seen the contamination already growing in them and was afraid that, if she took them with her, the Afton curse would follow. Or maybe William had threatened her into giving them up. Mike didn't know and probably wouldn't ever find out.

Elizabeth took the crayon drawing with her as they walked up the stairs and into the kitchen. She froze when she saw the living room.

"I know," said Mike, "It's a mess."

"It's ruined," Elizabeth said, "Everything's ruined." Mike wasn't sure whether she was talking about the house or something else.

Elizabeth picked their way carefully through the debris on the floor and walked down the hallway, past pictures of their father, siblings, and Henry on the wall: pictures of them standing in front of Freddy's, pictures of William and Henry dressed as Spring Bonnie and Spring Freddy surrounded by children, "Come on, Mike, take the picture, quick! This'll look great on the wall by the entrance," William had said.

Candid shots of George and Elizabeth in the ball pit, of Mike learning how to make a pizza in the kitchen, smiling an irritated smile because his dad was interrupting him and telling him to look happy but still like he was concentrating. "Act like I'm not here," he had said, crouching by the counter for a close-up. There were no pictures of their mother. Elizabeth took them to the last room on the right. The door was ajar but Mike had to shove it in order to get it fully open because so much stuff was piled on the floor behind it.

The room inside was cotton candy pink and Mike remembered that Elizabeth had asked for that shade specifically. "What if we can't find cotton candy pink?" William had teased on their way to the home store. "Is it okay if we get Cotton and then a Candy Red and mix them together?" Elizabeth had laughed like it was the best joke in the world. "No, Daddy! It has to be cotton candy pink on its own!" The walls were still pink, but the bedspread, the dresser, and the rug on the carpet—"We can't replace the carpet with pink right now, Lizzy, but what do you think about putting this rug on top instead?"—had all turned grey with dust and age.

"I'm sorry, Liz," said Mike, sensing her horror at seeing the state of her room. The plastic airbrushed horses with colorful manes and saddles, Elizabeth's most prized possessions, had been dumped off the top of her dresser and scattered on the floor. Her mattress had been overturned and cut open, searched for evidence, perhaps items from the children that William might have taken as souvenirs and hidden.

Mike didn't wait for her to move him. He crouched down, careful not to pinch anything, and began picking up the horses and setting them on their feet in the center of the rug. "It looks like most of them are fine," he said. He moved to wipe the spiderwebs off of one with his shirt, but then realized his shirt was still bloody, so he didn't. He lay one that had its leg snapped off onto its side and placed the leg beside it. "A little superglue, a little brushing, and they'll be as good as new."

Elizabeth moved him then, startling him. She sat down on the carpet and took the three-legged horse into their hands. "We're sorry, Michael," she said, fitting the broken leg back into the slot.

"It's okay," said Mike because really what else was he going to say? Everything had already been done. "It was an accident."

"Do you hate us?" she asked.

"Of course not," Mike replied.

"We think you should hate us," she said, smoothing back the horse's mane. She set it carefully with the others, propping it up between two so that the leg remained in place. "It will make you stronger."

"Hate doesn't make you stronger," said Michael, "it just makes you think you are."

A woman jogged by the window with her dog. Michael watched her shadow through the closed pink curtains and thought about what would have happened if the curtain had been open and she had seen a man sitting on the floor in the dark with glowing eyes, covered in blood, playing with ponies.

"Did you have a plan beyond getting a body and getting out of the lab?" asked Michael.

Elizabeth always had a plan of some sort. Mike suspected the planning and foresight she possessed had been inherited from their father, though William's tendency to jump from one thing to the next hindered his ability to go through with his plans. He still wrote them down, though. Lists upon lists, tucked in his day planner or written on a notepad by his computer, but written illegibly and too wordy to be helpful. But underneath, there was a spark of planning, and it was that spark that had ignited in Elizabeth at a young age. It was that spark that had allowed her to plan her escape and stick to it, ready and waiting for decades.

"We planned to escape and return home to live with you and George," she replied. She looked around the room, at the posters of singers and animals that had been torn carelessly off the walls. "With Daddy under our control, we thought we could fix everything and be a family again. But everything is ruined."

Michael tried to keep his mouth closed, dearly wanted to keep it closed, but he couldn't keep the truth from her. "Do you know about George?" he asked gently.

"Yes, we know," Elizabeth replied, pushing the horses so that they toppled into each other and fell into a heap. "Daddy was very upset when it happened. He brought George down into the lab and tried to save him, but he hadn't discovered remnant yet and he couldn't do to him what he did to you. About a week later, he came back wearing a suit and tie. He brought Fredbear into our room, Baby's room, and laid him and Baby in a pile. He poured gasoline all over us and pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He was going to burn us."

"Did he burn you?" asked Mike.

"No," answered Elizabeth. "Mr. Miller found him and took the lighter away from him. Daddy was so mad, he tried to punch him but he kept missing because it was so dark. Mr. Miller hit Daddy really hard, which made him stop. We think it scared him. They talked for a little bit but we couldn't hear what they were saying because it was too quiet, and then they left together. Daddy came back a few days later to clean the gasoline off of us. He looked so old: his face was all whiskery and he had bags under his eyes. His cheek was swollen, all purple and green, and it looked like it really hurt. It wasn't long after that that they brought the first kid down to the lab."

The week after George's death had been burned so deeply into Michael's memory that he had trouble focusing on it. It was so large, so close, that when he looked at it, he couldn't see details, just darkness and pain and guilt. He hadn't seen his father very much that week leading up to the funeral, because Mike had hidden in his room and refused to come out. Mike hadn't answered the phone when his friends called and he had ignored the rocks they threw at his window to get his attention. He never talked to them again.

George's death was his fault—the further tearing of his family was his fault—and even though Charlie had told him that it wasn't true, Mike still felt like part of the reason his father finally snapped was because of what Mike had done to George. Elizabeth's death had taken William to the edge and George's death had pushed him over. Listening to Elizabeth's account of that week in the lab, it sounded like he was right, regardless of what Charlie believed.

Mike wished suddenly that Charlie was there with him because the dark corners were beginning to close around him, shutting out options, sucking out the color. He put his hand into his pocket and felt around for his phone. When he found it, he gripped it tight but didn't pull it out. He couldn't contact Charlie in the state he was in. It wasn't safe. But if he didn't let her know where he was, she was going to worry, maybe even call the cops if it went on too long.

Mike took the phone out of his pocket and unlocked the screen. There was one missed call from Charlie.

"Who is Charlie?" asked Elizabeth.

"My wife," said Mike. He moved to click on the voice message to listen to it, but his fingers seized up. "I just want to listen to the message. I'm not going to tell on you," said Mike. After a moment, Elizabeth let go of his fingers and allowed him to click on the message.

"Hi honey," said the message, "The kids and I are home and I noticed you and William are MIA. Your truck's gone, so I'm hoping you two just went somewhere together, as dangerous as I think that is, and not that you ran to town and he's off rampaging through the neighborhood…but anyway, where are you? Call me back as soon as you get this. I really need to know you're okay. Love you."

The message ended and Mike stared at the screen until it went into sleep mode. Let her know he was okay, huh? It struck him that he was probably never going home and that meant he was never going to see his family again. He had become one of his father's creatures. The short life he had enjoyed with Charlie and their kids had been a wonderful dream, but that's all it had been. Now he was awake, back in the world he knew from his childhood.

"She sounds nice," said Elizabeth.

"She's wonderful," said Mike through the lump in his throat. "I just saw her this morning and I already miss her."

Elizabeth clicked the button on the side of the phone and turned on the screen. The background of the lock screen was of Mike, Charlie and the kids after one of Beth's soccer games. Elizabeth stared at the picture until the screen turned off again. She clicked it back on and touched the screen pensively.

"We would like to go home with you to your family, if that's okay," Elizabeth said finally. "We don't want to stay in this old house by ourselves. And your kids will miss you if we keep you here."

Michael smiled in disbelief. It was the thing he had wanted her to say, and yet, he knew it was impossible. "I appreciate it, Liz," he said. "But we can't go back to them like this." He examined his hand in front of the light of the digital screen: where Elizabeth had cut Mike's knuckles when she was banging on the door, Mike could see a metallic glint where the white of bone should have been. The skin on the back of his hand was beginning to separate as well from the strain. "It wouldn't be safe for anyone," he continued.

"We won't move you much," said Elizabeth. "What if we only move you sometimes?"

"I'm falling apart already, sis," said Mike, turning the back of his hand in the light. "It's not that I don't want you to come home with me, it's that I don't think you're going to be able to stay inside me for much longer. And if you insist on staying there until I physically can't function anymore, well, I don't want that to happen in front of my kids."

Elizabeth was quiet. "We don't want to hurt you, but we have no other choice."

Mike looked around the room, at the stuffed animals in the corners. They were way too small for what he was thinking, but it gave him an idea. "I know you told Dad that you needed a human body, but what if we got you something else? Something you could still move in?"

"There is no point if we can't go outside in it," replied Elizabeth.

"You're not going to be able to go outside wearing me for very much longer either. We might as well find you something that will last," said Mike.

A car drove by the house, a reminder of how close their little nightmare was to the normal, outside world. It was weird to think that they could stand up right now and walk out that door and enter into that normal everyday existence, if only for a little bit. They could pretend they weren't Aftons, could pretend they weren't dead—or nearly dead—and they could feel the sun, listen to the birds, smell the smoke of fires wafting up from chimneys and no one had to know where they had come from. Time was limited, but Elizabeth deserved that kind of experience again. It was a bad idea, but Michael hadn't had any good ones today.

"Hey, Liz, do you want an ice cream? If you let me do all the walking and talking, I'll buy one for you, er, us…"

"You mean that?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yeah," said Mike. "There's a shop just a few minutes down the road. But you need to promise not to move me, okay? I need to drive, and I can't do that if I can't move freely."

"We promise." Mike's body lurched to its feet. "That was the last one," she said.

Mike took a couple experimental steps and Elizabeth kept her word; she didn't force any of his movements. He sent a quick text to Charlie, half of which wasn't true—"We're fine. Sorry for scaring you. Father-son outing. Be back soon. Love you."—and then walked out the back door. With a quick check to make sure no one was watching, he got into his truck and drove out of the neighborhood. It was weird driving with a robot inside him, even if the robot was keeping her part of the bargain and letting him move his bones at will.

He drove at school-zone speed, even when angry drivers passed him. He could see the shopping center with the ice cream shop up ahead. It was so close that they probably could have walked there but he couldn't stomach the thought of taking any more agonizing steps than necessary. As they pulled into the drive-through lane, Mike caught the reflection of purple light in the windshield.

"You're going to need to turn off the lights in your eyes if you can," said Mike.

"But then we won't be able to see."

"It'll just be for a moment, okay? Just while I'm ordering."

"But we want to see."

Michael glanced over to the sunglasses folded up and sitting in the cupholder. Fuck it, he thought and he put them on.

"Fine," he said. "But dim them at least so they don't shine through the sunglasses, okay? And no talking."

"Thank you, Michael."

"You're welcome. What kind do you want?"

"Strawberry in a waffle cone, please. With sprinkles."

Michael pulled up to the window and ordered. When he reached out to hand the employee the money, her face went from cheerful professionalism to concerned disgust. In the light of the outdoors, the blood, wounds and misshapen quality of his arm were more noticeable. She handed him the ice cream cone at the same time as the money like criminals exchanging hostages and she almost dropped the coins, afraid to touch them.

"Keep the change," said Mike with what he meant to be a reassuring smile but probably just made him look menacing. He sped off before she could decide whether Mike looked more like a man with an unfortunate disease or like a man who had just killed someone and hadn't bothered to wash off the blood.

Mike put his blinker on left, back towards the house, then changed it to signal right. He pulled onto the road, away from the house.

"Where are we going?" asked Elizabeth. There was a slight seizing inside him, as though Elizabeth was afraid he was taking her somewhere to get rid of her and she was ready to take back control if that was the case.

"I thought you'd want to be outside a little more before we go back," said Mike. "I'm doing okay right now so we can stay out for a bit longer."

Elizabeth eased up. "Oh, yes, thank you."

Mike pulled into the parking lot of their local park. The park bordered a large lake and unkept natural area that was a marsh most times of the year. Cattails grew tall among yellowed water grass. The small manicured green had a little jungle gym where a handful of children played while their parents watched from benches, but the larger natural area was secretive and wild, hidden from view. Michael and his friends used to go there often and smoke cigarette butts they had collected from parking lots or the flowerpots in front of their house where William sometimes snuffed his own out.

William knew they spent a lot of time at the park, but he was so busy with Freddy's that he mostly let Mike do what he wanted as long as he didn't bring any of it home. If William had known about the smoking, though, he probably would have gone out and mowed the reeds down himself before grounding Mike for the rest of his life.

Michael pulled around to the far side of the parking lot and parked in the shade of one of the overgrown trees. He stepped carefully out of the truck, making sure his legs still worked before putting weight on them. Elizabeth was keeping her promise and letting Mike move on his own, though he found that moving his body, now at least twice as heavy as normal, was much more difficult without robotic assistance. He walked down the shallow slope, ice cream dripping pink down the cone onto his hand, and walked into the secret alcove that looked out at the water that he and his friends had loved for its privacy. It was overgrown, but the shape of it was still there. Ever so carefully, he sat down in the reeds, feeling the mud soaking into the back of his jeans. He felt pressure behind his eyes as Elizabeth pressed forward.

"We remember this place," said Elizabeth in awe.

"We used to come here a lot," explained Mike. "Do you remember catching frogs here?"

"Frogs…" Elizabeth mused. "Yes, we remember. Tiny green frogs. In a jar."

"We kept them in the bathroom until Dad made us set them loose," Michael added, laughing.

"We don't want to talk about him."

"Okay."

Michael put the ice cream to his mouth and licked a chunk off the top. The cold felt wonderful in his throbbing mouth but when he swallowed, it didn't go where it was supposed to. Instead, the cold wetness settled in odd places lower down in his gut.

"Ooh," Mike winced, lowering the ice cream cone. "That's enough of that, I think."

"You don't like it?" asked Elizabeth.

"It's good, but it's not settling well. I think eating's going to be different from now on."

"No," said Elizabeth, indignant. Mike felt his arm seize up and lift the ice cream again. He grabbed it with his other hand.

"Liz, stop."

"You have to like it for us." She pushed harder and Mike fought back. He felt like his bones were going to come out of his skin. The ice cream got closer, but he closed his mouth. She tried to pry it back open, but in the struggle, the ice cream dropped onto his lap.

Elizabeth stopped pushing and Mike wiped the ice cream off onto the ground.

"Geez, Elizabeth," Mike snapped. "You can't just control people like that. If I don't want ice cream, you shouldn't make me eat it."

"But you bought it for us," she said.

"Yes." Mike looked at the melted mess seeping into the mud. "I did. And I tasted it for you. But if I ate the whole thing, it would have been bad for both of us I think. People aren't puppets, Liz."

"Sometimes they are."

"Are you?"

Elizabeth was silent and she didn't move him. Michael stared out at the lake; a couple of ducks glided across the green surface followed by a trail of ducklings. The adults dipped into the water, searching for food, and the babies clumsily copied them.

"We're sorry," said Elizabeth, finally. "We're mean and that's why you should hate us."

"You're not mean," Mike sighed. "and I could never hate you, not after I spent so long wishing you'd come back."

"We know you aren't a puppet."

"Good," said Mike. "I know you aren't either."

A white heron waded through the shallow water around the edge of the lake close by. It eyed Michael for a moment, but decided he wasn't a threat and set to work raking the mud for worms.

"Speaking of puppets," said Michael, "if I found you an artificial body, would you move into it?" Elizabeth picked a blade of grass instead of answering. "The reason I ask," he continued, "is because, if you want to, I'd like to take you home with me, to live with my family. But…we can't go home the way we are right now."

"If we moved into a body like that," she said tentatively, "we wouldn't be able to go outside anymore."

"No, not in public, but we have a back yard you could play in," replied Mike. "And really, I'm not going to be able to go outside anymore, myself, if this keeps up."

Elizabeth made a sound of reluctant agreement that struck Michael as oddly mature. She was still seven emotionally, but she had technically been around since the eighties.

"What kind of body did you have in mind?" she asked.

"Some kind of doll or stuffed animal," said Mike. "Large and flexible enough that you can be comfortable moving around in it."

Elizabeth didn't answer right away and went back to picking grass. She had a small pile by the time she spoke again. "It would have to be cute," she said.

Mike smiled, relieved. "The cutest," he promised.

"Okay," Elizabeth agreed. "If you find one like that, we'll move into it."

"Thanks, sis. That means a lot to me." Mike couldn't express how much it actually meant. When he was scooped, he thought his life was over, but maybe he could still have it back in some form, unnatural though it might be. He had already crawled out of one trauma and into an oasis. He could do the same again. "Let's go back to the old house and see if we can't find a temporary vessel. Do you have any dolls in your room big enough to inhabit?"

"We used to have a Raggedy Ann doll that might be okay."

"Perfect," said Mike. He looked out over the lake once more. The ducks had moved on out of sight. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, we are ready."

They drove back to the old Afton house and went into Elizabeth's room. Mike was careful not to knock over any of the horses as they searched the room for the doll. Finally, after searching everywhere else, they found the doll in the closet, crammed between a shoe rack and the wall. Mike pulled it out and dusted it off. The cross-stitched face smiled up at him; the red yarn braids and green dress were dusty but otherwise in good condition. He stood the doll up next to him: it was one of the larger versions, perhaps an off-brand. It came up almost to his chest.

"What do you think, Liz?" asked Mike. Elizabeth took the doll in both hands and held it up. She extended its arms, testing the stretchiness of the fabric and the flexibility of it.

"She is perfect," said Elizabeth.

"Good," said Mike. "We'll open up the back and can go from there, okay?"

"Okay."

Michael brought the doll into the kitchen and, after clearing the garbage off of the table, laid her face down on it. He dug around in the old drawers for scissors. Most of the drawers had been yanked out and dumped by the police, and anything they had deemed as a possible murder weapon had been bagged and removed years ago. Mike examined the seam on the back of the doll, but it didn't look like it would separate without being cut.

"There are tools down in the lab," said Mike as he picked up the doll. Thinking of the long trek back down there made his bones ache.

"We don't want to go back down," said Elizabeth.

"It'll just be for a little bit," said Michael. "Besides, we need to go get Dad."

Elizabeth stiffened and stopped Mike in his tracks. "No," she said. "He can't come with us."

"We can't leave him here," said Mike. "He needs help, and he's trying to change."

"Monsters don't change. He will hurt people again if he gets out."

"He's been living in our garage," said Michael. "Charlie and I have been taking precautions and…Dad's really been trying. He wants to be different." Michael tried to take a step towards the basement but his legs remained locked in place. "We're not leaving without him."

"He's going to kill your children," said Elizabeth.

"When we get back home, you can keep an eye on them, if you would like," said Mike. "But we've been very careful and he's been careful too. Everything is going good so far." Elizabeth wasn't budging. "He's family and he needs our help. Just like you. He can stay in the garage until you see he's not going to do anything, if that helps." Elizabeth was silent. "Liz, please. He's our dad."

Elizabeth's hands closed tight on the doll. "We will keep one eye on your children and another eye on Daddy at all times. If he does anything mean, we will kill him for real."

Mike couldn't help chuckling. "I think you and Charlie are going to get along," he said.

He probably should have asked Charlie if it was okay for Elizabeth to come live with them before he had offered, but where else was his sister supposed to go? He hoped Charlie would be okay with it. Part of him worried that, when she saw what he had become, she would take the kids and leave, but that was just paranoia talking. Charlie was tougher than that. They would work this out together.

Elizabeth relaxed the cables and allowed Mike to walk. "Thanks, Liz," he said as he took the doll into the basement and tunnel. "This will work out. You'll see."

When they arrived at the end of the tunnel, Elizabeth punched in the code and pushed the door open. The lab was silent and dark. Mike had half expected his father to have broken out of the scooping room and be waiting for them in the main room, but he wasn't. He wasn't making any noise at all. Mike hoped he was all right. He walked over to one of the desks and rifled through the drawers. Sure enough, in the top drawer he found a box cutter and in no time, he had the back of the doll open. Mike lay the doll on the floor and sat next to it.

Now came the hard part. He really didn't want to cut himself open, but he didn't see any other choice, so he opened his shirt and lined up the box cutter blade with the stitches at his navel.

"Wait." Elizabeth stopped his hand. "We know a better way. If we are careful, we won't damage you anymore."

Mike felt the cables unwinding from his fingers and slithering up his arms, pooling in his chest like blood. The pain was a new, fresh sort, and Mike thought alarmingly of blisters. "Okay," he said, afraid of what would come next. "Just be careful—" his voice cut off when something cold and hard blocked his airway. It went up behind his ribs, up his throat and between his teeth. Like something out of an alien movie, Mike looked down and saw a glowing eye looking up at him, hanging from a cable out of his mouth.

"Relax," said Elizabeth. "We'll be careful."

The cable extended further and another followed along beside it. Mike felt like he was suffocating and it took all his self control not to grab ahold of the cables and yank them out of his throat in animalistic panic. But he held off. Instead, he hunched over his knees and balled his hands into tight fists. The cables left his feet, his legs, and coalesced in his midsection before exiting through his mouth in a slow stream of squirming metal. The space left behind felt itchy and hollow and Mike wondered if that feeling would ever go away.

More and more cables came, dotted with more eyes—the "we" Elizabeth was always referring to—and they stretched out on the floor like grasping hands. Mike couldn't believe all of that had fit inside him. Finally, with a scraping sensation, the cables and eyes left his skull and dropped out of his mouth onto the floor. With nothing to hold him up anymore, Michael collapsed and gulped in shaking breaths as he watched the cables form a human shape. They stood up, looked at the doll, then looked at Michael, bathing him in purple light.

"Are you okay?" asked Elizabeth.

Mike gave a shaky thumbs up, glad it was over but wondering if he'd ever be able to walk again.

"Rest for now," said Elizabeth, turning to look at the door to the scooping room. "We have something to take care of before we leave."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.

"You have always protected us. Our big brother," she said. "So now we are going to protect you and your family."

She approached the room and Mike realized what she meant.

"No, stop." He tried to get up, but all he could manage was a weak crawl. She ignored him and removed the barricade from the door. "Elizabeth, whatever you're thinking, please don't do it."

She looked back at him, her wire face emotionless. "It's for your own good," she said, then she unlocked the door and entered the scooping room.

* * *

A/N: I like the idea of Elizabeth/Ennard inhabiting a raggedy ann doll. If they ever actually get to that point instead of going off the rails, Afton-style, I think the vessel would be the perfect combination of cute and creepy.


	10. Mercy

A/N: Content Warning: a bit of violence. Elizabeth goes after William.

Did I say "5-10 chapters"? I meant 15-20 chapters. ;)

* * *

Scraping. Metal hitting metal. Green eye beams reflecting off of bulletproof glass in the dark.

The weak bolts in Springtrap's suit groaned, warning William to stop slamming himself into the door and window and walls. The metal casing on his chest, his shoulders, his knees, dented more with each bodyslam, the springlocks bending and crowding his bones, pressuring him to just accept that Mike and Elizabeth weren't coming back, that he had finally succeeded in destroying his entire family.

He wouldn't be getting out of his prison this time. Michael had found him in Fazbear's Fright by sheer luck. But Michael was gone now, gone forever, and no one was going to come for him. He would be in this old sewer tunnel deep beneath the earth for all of eternity.

He called for Elizabeth and Michael for hours, called until his voice box began shorting out, but they didn't return. The door wasn't going to budge. It had been built to contain animatronics, after all. All he had succeeded in doing was knocking his chest out of alignment on his frame from his repeated ramming into the wall.

No one was coming. Mike was gone.

William crossed the room, giving the scoop a wide berth, and crouched in the corner among the scraps. He felt panic rising again, felt delusions gnawing at the overheated cables in his brain. Henry, he thought, please save me. He searched the walls and ceiling for any sign that Henry had broken his attachment to Mike and Charlie's house and come to rescue him. He concentrated on the door and tried to make himself believe that Henry was going to open it and come walking in. "Silly Willy," he'd say, "got yourself stuck?" "Yes," William would reply. "I can get you out of this," Henry would say and he'd take William's hand and they'd leave together.

Yes, good, thought William as he hugged his knees to his chest and lowered himself onto his side on the floor. It was a good fantasy. Again. Henry would walk through the door. "I can get you out," he'd say, "Got yourself stuck, didn't you?" "Yes, I was so scared, thank you for saving me." "I couldn't leave you behind," Henry would say, "I need you." and then Henry would hug him or maybe even kiss him. Yes, thought William, closing his eyes so that he could form the scene better in his mind. Henry would come in and kiss him and he wouldn't even make the face he usually did afterwards. He wouldn't scrunch his eyebrows together and clench his jaw and look away and make William feel so small and wrong— No, William scolded himself. Stop thinking about that part. Okay, Henry would come walking through that door. "Silly Willy, got yourself stuck?"

William tried to imagine Michael walking in as well, restored fully back to life, but he couldn't make the image manifest. Even in his imagination, he couldn't pretend Mike was coming back. Not after what Elizabeth had done to him.

Michael…

I'm so sorry.

Henry would come in…

The metal door beeped and slid open: in reality this time, not just in William's imagination. When he looked up, he saw bright purple eyes hovering in the dark doorway. Someone had come for him but it wasn't Henry.

"Elizabeth?" he tested.

William could see frayed cables in the purple glow, bristling like fur on her mechanical shoulders; she wasn't inside Michael anymore, and she wasn't responding. William wondered if this was a full-blown hallucination: a scary one that he hadn't been prodding into existence. He sat up slowly, never taking his eyes off of her.

"Is that you?" he asked. "A-are you here to let me out?"

Without a word, the endoskeleton broke into a sprint, directly towards him.

William scrambled to his feet and backed along the wall. "Hey!" He stretched out his arms to shield himself. "Hey, whoa!"

He was nowhere as quick as she was and there is no way he could have outrun her. She crashed into him like a wave, wrapping her cables around him until he was encased. He felt the numb pressure of those cables hooking up under his chest plate and coiling through his limbs. He tried to move, but his old suit and bones were no match for her sleek stainless steel. The purple eyes remained in front of his face and matched up to his own eyes, sending sparks of bright pain into his head.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he demanded, pulling. The weight and squeezing were too much and he fell to his knees. "Wh-what did you do to M-Mike?"

"Mike's fine," Elizabeth replied. William felt the cables wrapping around his spine and he knew this was the end. "But you aren't," she continued. "We're sorry it has to be this way, Daddy, but we won't let you hurt any of us anymore." He heard his shoulder snap as it was wrenched out of its socket. "If we leave you down here, Mike will come back and let you out." His hip broke and she kept squeezing. "And if you are let out, you will come back and hurt us. You always do."

William felt his spine beginning to separate as she pulled him apart. He struggled against her grip but it was useless. "Elizabeth, please don't." His voice shook but he didn't have the energy to yell. Mike was fine and that's all that mattered anymore.

"We don't want to do this, but we have to." Elizabeth's voice was honest, but what she wanted to do or not do didn't matter; she saw this as her duty. William looked up at her as the cables snaked up through his neck and encased his head. They began to squeeze. William tried to lift his arms to pull them off, but he couldn't make them move. He realized it was because they had been detached and dropped onto the floor. "Please die quickly," Elizabeth said, almost like a prayer.

With one final clench, what was left of William's body was crushed. Metal groaned, bones snapped, and his skull caved in with a wet crunch. The cables tore off the mask and suit, taking with them large chunks of what had been left of his human body. She did it quickly and carelessly, unsure of how far she would have to go to actually kill him. She wanted to obliterate him so that she wouldn't have to perform a mercy killing if her first attempt wasn't thorough enough.

William's consciousness broke and it had trouble keeping track of what it should have been attached to. It more or less stayed within his torso and head, but as more and more was removed from him, pieces of his spirit sloughed off and chased the debris, causing the scraps to twitch weakly on the floor like earthworms. Finally, after an eternity, Elizabeth stopped. She didn't have to remove her cables from his body because there was nothing to be inside of anymore. She just stood up in the pile she had created. The pieces of William and the suit spasmed, looking for some way to put themselves back together, searching for the core, the heart, the control center. But there was no core anymore. "William" was a concept, not a body. His one remaining glowing eye stared up at Elizabeth, looking for regret but finding none, and the green light within dwindled away into nothing.

"We're sorry, Daddy." She sounded like she was crying. "We hope you can find peace now." She turned and walked slowly to the door. She didn't bother to close it when she left.

William didn't know what was going on, didn't know what he was, didn't know anything except that he was still in the room, still in the scraps. Heaven didn't open above him and Hell didn't open below him. It was just him, sentient, in a pile of his own body, watching his daughter walk away. He should have felt release, but he didn't. He was still trapped like before.

"What did you do, Liz?" William heard Mike's voice in the other room. Elizabeth said something too quietly to hear.

Footsteps stumbled across the floor and suddenly Mike was standing in the doorway, holding onto it to keep himself standing.

"Oh god," said Mike and William felt awful. Even as a pile of scrap, he was causing Mike pain. Michael approached the pile carefully, accidentally stepping on a couple of the smaller pieces. "Oh god, Elizabeth, what have you done?"

Elizabeth appeared in the doorway again. "We're sorry, Michael," she said. "It was the only way to protect you."

Michael sank to his knees in front of the pile. He gently picked up the animatronic eye. William tried to talk to him, to move, to do something. But he couldn't. All he could do was watch.

Mike looked around the room. "Dad?" he called, as though he was hoping William's spirit had detached and was floating somewhere. "Dad? Are you here? If you're here, please move something or scratch something or, fuck, just do anything."

William tried all of those things, but he couldn't manage it. Mike stayed there for a long time and Elizabeth kept her distance. William did everything he could to communicate but he couldn't figure it out. It was like the first time he had woken up as Springtrap. It had taken him over a decade to learn how to move again. Was this punishment? This had to be punishment for what he had done back then to the children. Whether it had come from the children themselves or from some higher harbinger of justice, they knew that the thing William hated most, more than humiliation or even pain, was feeling trapped. It was clear now that, no matter what happened to the suit, he'd still be stuck on earth, springtrapped for eternity. The thought made him anxious.

A spark of inspiration hit him. It was just like back then, the first time he had woken up in the suit. What had he done back then to learn movement, back before he had control of a physical body? He had learned how to control his own spirit. His spirit was nothing more than a more concentrated form of remnant, and what gave remnant its power? That very concentration. William needed to get all the pieces of his spirit back together, he needed to focus them into one place and then maybe, hopefully, he would be able to control it. He decided to focus on the eye, since Michael was already holding it. He would pour all his remnant into that. He had no idea how many pieces he had been torn into, so he decided not to bother with trying to imagine them. Instead, he knew what his body used to look like, so he pictured that.

He started with his feet. He searched his consciousness for the part of him that had chased those scraps to god knows where. He found them more easily than he had expected. They were in many pieces, some in the pile, some over by the wall, but he found them. Abandon those, he commanded his spirit, they aren't me. I'm the eye in Mike's hand. I'm nothing but the eye in Mike's hand. Return to my actual body. Slowly, his consciousness released its grip on the scraps of his feet and were drawn into the eye. William lost awareness of where his feet were and the eye felt more alive, though that probably wasn't the right word for it. Good, he thought, exhausted already. Piece of cake. This is why people said he always came back. He was good at this. Now for the legs.

Mike's cell phone rang. He dug it listlessly out of his pocket and put it to his ear, muttering absently about cell service.

"Hello?"

"Mike!" Charlie said on the other end. She sighed in relief. "Thank god. Are you okay?"

Michael didn't answer right away. He stared down at the pile and wrapped his fingers around Springtrap's eye like a talisman.

"Mike?" Charlie tried again. "What's wrong?"

Tears pooled in his eyes, causing the blood dried in their corners to escape. Elizabeth was still staying far back by the door, watching.

"I…" Mike trailed off. "Everything, Char." Tears formed long lines through the blood smeared on his face. His voice choked. "Everything's wrong."

"What happened? Where are you?"

William tried to focus on drawing the remnant out of his legs but it was hard to concentrate when Mike was crying. There was more spirit in his legs than his feet and it took longer to transport it to the eye, but he did it.

"I'm…" Mike coughed to clear his throat. "Shit, I'm in my dad's underground lab. I don't know what to say or where to begin, I'm kinda freaking out."

"Deep breaths, Mike, okay? I'm coming to get you. Where is the lab?"

Mike turned the eye in his hand. "Under my old house," he replied.

"Okay, I'm on my way. Is William there with you?"

Mike looked down at the pile. William transferred the remnant from his torso as quickly as he could but the torso was trickier than his legs. There were so many different pieces and they were all over the place. He tried to make the eye glow to show Mike that he was still here, but the eye remained dark.

"No," said Mike finally. "He's…dead."

"What?" Charlie gasped. "What happened?"

Mike didn't answer. He glanced back at Elizabeth who hadn't moved. "We didn't want to," she said quietly, "But it was for your own good."

"I don't know," Mike said into the phone. He looked so tired. "I can't…"

"I'm almost there," said Charlie. "Can he be put back together? Like, the suit?"

"Hell if I know," said Mike. "He isn't responding. He's a heap of scrap metal now." William finished with his torso and focused on his hands and arms, trying to see if he could combine them to save time.

"Turning onto your street now," said Charlie.

"Okay, I'll meet you out back. I—" Michael caught sight of his hand again, at the torn, dying flesh, and chuckled disbelievingly. "Fuck, I got so caught up with…I completely forgot about me…fuck…"

"I don't know what you mean, 'forgot about you'?"

Michael put the eye in his pocket. "I'll explain when you get here. I'll try to explain, anyway. Dammit. It's so messed up."

William hurriedly finished his arms and moved onto his head. If Mike took the eye out of the lab, he was concerned that it would be too far away for him to concentrate on, and he had already poured so much of his remnant into it. No, Mike, William thought, trying to focus on his head and ears. Wait, Mike, please.

"I'm still not sure what you mean, but I'm here. You out back?" asked Charlie.

Mike stood up. Elizabeth had retreated into the outer room. "Give me a minute, I'm pretty far underground and it's kind of a long walk."

William frantically pulled the essence from his dissected skull fragments scattered around. Please wait, he thought.

"I'll meet you half way," said Charlie.

"No, I'll meet you outside. I don't want you to—"

"You don't want me to get spooked?"

"I…" He gripped the eye in his pocket as he turned to leave. "I don't want you to see me in the dark."

"Mike, you're scaring me," said Charlie. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say the Afton curse got me, too," said Mike. Charlie didn't respond.

William pulled the spirit from the pieces of his ears. Mike started walking towards the exit. No, Mike, please wait, William thought. Please don't leave me down here. The essence floated after him, the string getting thinner and longer with each step. If Mike wasn't careful, he was going to break the stream.

"Don't worry," said Michael. "I'm not a killer robot or anything. I'm just…well, I'll wait until you see me. Oh, I found my sister, too."

"Elizabeth is still alive?" asked Charlie.

"No, not exactly."

Charlie was quiet. "I'm coming in after you," she said finally.

"No, don't, I'm almost out," Mike lied, making it to the doorway of the scooping room. "I need to get out into the fresh air for a minute anyway. Then we can come back down and I'll show you around my hell, okay?"

"Okay," said Charlie after a pause, "but hurry out because I have a big hug waiting for you up here. You know, before my tour de hell."

Mike smiled briefly. "Okay," he said. "I'm coming."

No, please, begged William as Mike left the room. The remnant thread was getting too thin and he was losing control. Mike! No, Mike! William cried, Please please please don't leave, please—

"Mike!"

William's hand lashed out and caught Mike's sleeve. Mike stopped and looked back, confused, staring directly into William's hollow eyes. Then he jumped back and cried out in delayed shock. William looked down and realized he had a body, transparent but distinct, one that had arms and legs and clothes and a head of hair, and wounds like survey lines criss-crossing through his skin, bleeding copious amounts of black blood.

"No, don't be afraid, it's me!" William said, letting go of Mike's sleeve and putting his hands up to show he meant no harm. "It's Dad."

Mike was holding the phone away from his ear and the screen lit up his face. "Dad?" he said in disbelief.

"What happened?" demanded Charlie from the phone.

William heard metal footsteps from the other room. "Are you okay?" asked Elizabeth. A Raggedy Ann doll stepped into view and William recognized it as the one he had bought Elizabeth a long time ago.

Mike ignored them both and stared at William. "What—" He motioned at the scrap pile, then at William. "You're here? How did you…"

William smiled, feeling proud of his accomplishment. "I came back."

"Don't shrug your shoulders at me like this was all some elaborate joke," said Mike. "I thought you were gone for good. I thought Elizabeth…"

William locked eyes with the doll. She was staring up at him, motionless, just as surprised as anyone that he had come back. William half expected her to tackle him again and try to dismantle him a second time. But whether or not she wanted to, she couldn't, not anymore.

"She did," William admitted awkwardly. "She was worried about you. Didn't think I was a good influence on your kids. Can't say I blame her."

"I can," huffed Mike, turning to Elizabeth. "Please don't do that again. You can't just destroy people. Even if you don't like them."

"We didn't want to," said Elizabeth sadly. "but we thought it was the only way to keep you safe."

Mike sighed and crouched to her level. "I appreciate it, Liz, but no more of that, okay? We're trying to repair our family—Dad, Charlie, the kids, me and you—and we can't do that by hurting each other like that anymore. If something's wrong, from now on we talk about it, okay?"

"Okay," Elizabeth said quietly.

"Good," said Mike with a smile. As an afterthought, he opened his arms and gave her a hug. Elizabeth wrapped her arms slowly around her brother and clenched her hands in the back of his coat and William realized just how lonely Elizabeth had been down here in the lab.

"I'm in the tunnel, Mike," said Charlie urgently over the phone. "Can you still hear me?"

"Yeah, I can hear you," said Mike as he stood up. "Sorry for scaring you. Just got another surprise. It's a day for surprises, I guess."

"That's quite the understatement," said Charlie. "Are you on your way?"

"Yeah, we're headed to the tunnel right now. See you soon?"

"See you soon."

Michael ended the call and turned to William. "Good to go, Dad?"

William picked at his fingers in an anxious habit, even though there was nothing to pick. "I think so," he said. "I'm attached to that eye in your pocket, so I should be okay to leave."

"Are you in pain?" asked Mike, motioning.

At first, William didn't know what he meant, but then he looked down at the wounds that covered his body and realized how shocking they must look. "Oh. No, these are old injuries from a springlock failure. My last one." He looked up at Michael's own broken body. "Um…are you? In pain, I mean." Elizabeth looked up as well, holding Mike's hand, eager to hear the answer.

"I'm doing okay," said Mike with a tired smile. "Can we get out of here now? Can we go home and forget about this godawful place?"

"I'd like nothing better," said William and, together, they left the scooping room, left the pile of Springtrap, and left the lab, for what they all hoped would be the very last time.

As decrepit as his Springbonnie suit had become, William was still sad to see it go. It had meant so much to him, and Mike and Charlie had worked so hard to make it look nice again. It was physically easier to move in his ghostly form, but he couldn't touch anything. Aside from that first desperate grab on Mike's sleeve, William couldn't interact with his environment anymore. Whenever he tried to pick things up or bump experimentally into the tables or Mike, his insubstantial body went right through everything.

They went into the tunnel and William saw the beam from Charlie's phone flashlight about halfway down. Mike held Elizabeth's hand reassuringly and William hung back a step, nervous. Charlie had given him such a scolding for simply spooking her kids; what would she do to him when she realized what he had let happen to Michael?

"You okay, Dad?" Mike asked, noticing he had slowed down a bit. William felt terrible; Mike, in the state he was in, was still checking on his wellbeing.

"I'm okay," William answered.

Mike nodded, satisfied, then turned back to the light. "Hi Charlie," he called, trying to sound chipper but sounding nervous, himself.

"Mike?" asked Charlie. "Oh, thank God." She jogged the last length of tunnel to him but when she reached him, he stepped back awkwardly out of the light. "Why are you covered in blood?"

Michael hunched in on himself, as though he could hide his corpse-like skin and fatal injuries. "Prepare yourself." He said it with a grin like it was a joke, but Charlie wasn't amused. She reached towards him and touched his face. Mike sagged into her touch and closed his eyes. She smiled and tutted at him.

"All that drama for nothing," she said. "It's not that bad. Some warm food and a long bath and you'll be as good as new."

"It's a little more complicated than that, unfortunately," said Mike.

"We did our best not to hurt him too much."

Charlie shone the light down at the doll and jumped back. "What is that?" she asked.

Mike patted Elizabeth's hand to reassure her. "This is Elizabeth. She's eight…sorta. It's kind of the same situation as with my dad, but less…corpsey."

"No corpse at all, in fact," added William nervously, trying to be helpful.

Charlie ignored him and hung back for a moment, eyeing the doll. She looked up at Mike to make sure it really was safe. She crouched down.

"It's nice to see you again, Lizzy. You probably don't recognize me, but we used to play together a long time ago. I'm Henry's daughter, Charlotte."

Elizabeth lit up and looked up at Michael. "You didn't tell us that your wife was Charlie Miller!" she exclaimed happily. She turned back to Charlie. "You're a grown up now like Mike," she observed. "We're really glad to see you again. We missed you a lot. Mike says we are going to come live with you and your kids."

Charlie glanced playfully up at Mike who shrugged. "Well if he said that, it must be true," she said. "I missed you a lot, too, Liz." She gave her a tentative hug and then stood up. "Heck of a day," she sighed.

"You said it," said Mike.

Charlie looked down the tunnel briefly, then back at Mike. "So…William didn't make it?" she said quietly. Mike glanced back at William, confused. "I'm really sorry," she continued. "What happened?"

William stepped forward quickly. "The suit's gone, but I'm still here. Everything's fine now." He rested a weightless hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Lizzy did what she thought was best."

Charlie was still staring at Michael, concerned. "Mike?" she prodded. "Are you okay talking about it?"

William frowned. Charlie ignored him sometimes, but this was ridiculous. It was almost like she hadn't heard him at all.

"Charlie?" William experimented. She didn't respond. He stepped between her and Mike, but nothing happened except she rubbed her arms quickly from a sudden chill. William looked desperately at Mike. "She can't see me," he said.

"It doesn't seem like it," said Mike, then to Charlie, "You don't see him?"

"Who? William?"

"Yes, he's standing right there."

Charlie looked around, shining her flashlight against the walls. "Where?" she asked.

Elizabeth pointed at William but Charlie squinted right through him.

"Oh no," William said, tucking in close to Michael. "Mike, she can't see me! What if Beth and Sammy can't see me either?" Not being seen by Charlie was one thing, but how was he supposed to be a good grandpa if he couldn't interact with his grandchildren?

"You can't see him at all?" Mike asked. "You're not just messing with me, are you?"

"I could ask you the same thing," said Charlie, offended. "There's no one here besides you, me, and Elizabeth."

Michael took the eye out of his pocket in wonder. William touched it, trying to make it glow to prove to Charlie that he was here, but the eye remained dead. All his influence was gone.

"No," He touched his own face to remind himself that he was still there. He looked back down the dark tunnel towards the lab, towards what was left of his suit. "No, no, no." He couldn't go home like this. He didn't want to end up like Henry, floating in limbo, observing yet ostracized from his family. Mike and Elizabeth could still see him, but how long would that last? What if it wore off as soon as they left the lab? What if William accidentally got detached from them, from the eye? His attachment was so fragile already.

He ran back down the corridor into the dark.

"Dad!" Mike called after him. "Where are you going?"

"My suit," he answered without looking back. Maybe if he concentrated, he could put together some form of a body. Maybe there were still a couple drops left of remnant that he could inject into it. The suit didn't have to be pretty, it just had to function because he had to have some sort of a body. He wasn't ready to give up on being a grandfather just yet. He imagined coming home with everyone and Beth and Sammy standing there peering around, asking "Where's Grandpa?" Michael or Charlie would have to explain that he was gone, or maybe they'd share the more complicated version that he was there but they couldn't see him. And the kids would cry, which would be awful, or they'd forget about him, which would be worse. He wouldn't even be able to move things or leave messages on the fridge like in ghost movies. He knew he should be content having Michael and Elizabeth back, but now that he'd had a taste of it, he wanted—needed—his whole living family. If that made him selfish, so be it; he never pretended he wasn't a self-centered bastard.

William rushed to the suit and searched the darkness, trying to find the pieces of his head. He found one of the ears that had been crushed and half-buried by other scraps. He cupped his hands around it but when he lifted his hands, they passed right through the ear. He frowned and tried again but got the same result. He could do this, he told himself, because he had to. He was desperate and desperation had always given him strength. He grabbed for the crumpled ear again but his hand still passed through it.

"Goddammit!" he shouted and plunged his hands into the scraps again, yanking at the ear like a madman. The ear didn't so much as jostle. He swept his hands through the pile, looking for some sign of movement, some sign that he had any influence over the suit. But no matter how much he thrashed, the pile remained still.

"Dad?" called Mike as he tentatively entered the scooping room. "What are you doing?"

William whipped around to face him like a feral animal. "I can't get this blasted thing to cooperate!" he said. He wiped his angry tears on his sleeve. "This stupid hunk of junk!" He kicked the pile but his foot went right through it. "Mike, you gotta help me put it back together."

Mike crouched and picked up one of the springlocks. Separated out, it looked like a long sharp nail. "I don't think putting it back together is possible. Elizabeth did a pretty thorough job mashing it into paste."

William reached for the springlock but when Mike handed it to him, it fell to the floor with a clang. "I've taken this old suit apart and put it back together thousands of times," William insisted. "It's possible. I'll direct you and then you can put it together. We can probably leave out the organic material, which will make it function much more smoothly."

"I mean, we can try," said Michael rubbing his neck. "But I wouldn't hold out too much hope. It's in bad shape. Why do you need it all of a sudden anyway? Just a few minutes ago you seemed like you liked your new form."

William put his hands into the pile again, watching them sink soundlessly to the floor. "Charlie can't see me," he explained. "Which means Beth and Sammy won't be able to, either. It'll be like I'm not there."

"You don't know that," said Mike. "And even if they can't see you, you'll still be there with us."

"But I won't be able to ask them about their day, or have breakfast with them, or play with them. I won't be able to do anything a grandfather should be able to do. And if you or Elizabeth aren't there to inform them every second of the day what I'm doing and saying, they'll forget about me. How the hell am I supposed to build a relationship with them if they don't know I'm there?" He hadn't meant to say it, but it had come bubbling up from his dead heart like mold and now that it was out in the air, he gripped it with both hands.

"How are they supposed to love me?" he demanded. That was the crux of the issue. William was claustrophobic in his smelly old suit, but the suit was a body and it allowed him to be part of the world he inhabited, even if it was an altered, limited version of participation.

In horror stories, at least in the ones that spent time exploring the monsters, the worst part about being a ghost was being suspended between this world and the next, not part of either. They were alone, afraid, lost, sometimes angry, and it was this cocktail of despair that drove them to do "scary" things like appear in the bedrooms of living people to ask for help. And when the living treated them like pests, the ghosts got angry and acted out. William knew he had been guilty of acting out. He knew he was doing that right now by scraping help out of his wounded son, but just like the ghosts in the movies, he couldn't stop himself.

William had never been able to stop himself from doing anything and he saw that Michael understood; he saw it in Michael's sagging eyes, in the way he listened patiently to his emotionally unstable father's most recent crisis. And even though Mike was surely worried about his own fate and future, even though most of his organs were missing and he didn't know if he was going to heal from his injuries or rot like old meat, he sat with his father and let him cry and moan about losing his springlock suit. He petted him with soothing half-truths, giving William the gentle attention he ached for and empathizing with all his woes. He sat in William's horror story while simultaneously navigating his own. That's something parents were supposed to do for their children, not the other way around.

William sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, feeling sudden shame flush through him. "Sorry, Michael. Please forget it." He got to his feet. "I'll be okay. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for being sad, Dad," said Mike. "I know how much that suit meant to you and how important Beth and Sammy are to you."

William ignored him. "Let's go home," he said. "I'll be all right."

"We can bring the suit to our house, if you want," offered Mike.

"No," said William. "It's fine. I'm fine."

Michael was silent for a moment, then left the room. There was the sound of crashing and then he came back with a large box. Without a word, be began picking up the scraps of the suit and setting them carefully in the box.

William sighed and crouched again. "You really don't have to do that," he said.

"Maybe I want to." Mike flashed him a smile. "Ever think of that? Maybe I want to help you tinker with it like the old days."

William relaxed into a smile as well. He sat on the floor and watched Michael box up his remains; Michael didn't even flinch when picking up pieces of bone and cotton. He just smiled on with that self-assured "Everything will be okay" expression he had perfected for his children, as though the bits of the suit were just building blocks that had been dumped out on the floor and he and William were putting them away together.

"There you are." Charlie shone her flashlight on Michael. She and Elizabeth had come after them and were now standing in the entryway. "What are you doing?"

"Packing up my dad's suit," answered Mike. "I know you don't believe me, but my dad got separated from his suit and now he's just here, though apparently invisible to you."

"I never said I didn't believe you," said Charlie gently as she crouched to help Mike. "So…he's here right now?" Mike nodded. "Where?"

Charlie looked up when Mike pointed and her eyes met William, but they did not lock on him. It was clear that she still didn't see him. "William?" she ventured. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I hear you," William said quietly, glancing at Mike.

"He says he hears you," said Michael as he filled the box. "It's just like normal, only you can't see or hear him, I guess." He left the room for a moment and came back with another box.

Charlie looked at Elizabeth who was standing in the doorway, clearly not crazy about spending any more time in the scooping room than necessary. "And you see him too?" Charlie asked.

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes," she said locking eyes with William. "He's all bloody, but he still looks like Daddy, how I remember him." William didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing to Elizabeth. He hoped it was good, but because she had seen so much of what he had done to the children in the laboratory, it probably wasn't.

"Okay," said Mike as he set the box next to the remaining suit parts. "This should do it, and then we can get the heck out of here." Charlie helped Mike stand, realizing perhaps for the first time that something truly awful had happened to him. "Are the kids at a sitter's house?" he asked.

"They're with Jessica," said Charlie. "She said they could stay the night if they need to." She looked down at the two boxes of gore and scrap, then up at the spot where Elizabeth had said William was standing. "Do they need to?" she asked.

Mike looked around as well, taking stock of the situation and trying to figure out whether their new development was dangerous for the kids or just weird. He took too long to answer so Charlie pulled out her phone and started texting.

"I'll tell Jessica to keep them overnight," she said with a melancholy smile. "Just in case."

"That's probably best," agreed Mike. William didn't like that he wouldn't get to see the kids anymore today, but he agreed, too. For Elizabeth's sake and Mike's too, it probably was best that they had a day to acclimate to their new forms of existence.

Between the three with bodies, the group was able to carry the boxes out of the tunnel and load them into the trunk of the SUV. Charlie strapped Elizabeth into the backseat and William passed through the door and awkwardly settled beside her. Mike was moving slowly towards his truck, meaning to drive himself home, but he didn't get very far before Charlie jumped out of the driver's seat and stopped him. His features were terrible in the light and must have been severely shocking to Charlie, but to Charlie's credit, she didn't recoil from him.

"I'll drive you home and we can come back for your truck later," she said, taking his arm and guiding him to the SUV before he could protest.

"Charlie, I'm fine—"

"You're not fine," she said. "Not yet. Certainly in no shape to be driving."

"But I just drove like an hour ago—"

"And that's supposed to reassure me?" she asked. He had no answer. "In the car. There you go." She kissed him lightly on the cheek and buckled his seatbelt for him.

Mike smiled, looking extremely sad as Charlie got into the driver's seat. "Thanks, Charlie," he said.

"It's no big deal," she said. "You're not supposed to drive when you're tired anyway. Apparently it's as bad as driving drunk, or something. And you look beat."

"I am," Michael admitted, sinking into his seat and closing his eyes. He spoke as though he had forgotten that Elizabeth and William were in the back seat, as though it was just him and Charlie in the car. "I've never been so exhausted in my whole life."

"More tired than that first night home with Beth?" Charlie asked playfully, but Mike didn't respond. He was asleep.

William felt the weariness radiating off of Mike in cold waves like frost on grass. He checked above Mike's head in the passenger's seat to make sure his spirit wasn't trying to escape again, but it wasn't. Regardless of how Michael felt, his spirit at least was staying put.

The rest of the car ride was silent as Mike slept because Charlie didn't know how to make smalltalk with Elizabeth, Elizabeth didn't know how to make smalltalk with her, and neither of them wanted to talk to William. So they stared out their respective windows and waited for their awkward incarceration to be over. The thought crossed William's mind about how Michael was the common element that held all of them together and managed to create a family that could encompass them all. William marveled that, out of all his kids, Michael had turned out to be the one with this skill. Not George, who had definitely been the most sensitive—though he probably would have grown up to be the kindest of the three if he had had the chance— and not Elizabeth, who was the most like William, fun but with hard edges.

Michael, the one of the three who had defied William the most, who had been planning on attending a college as far away from home as possible, had ended up being the one to pick them all up and put their broken, unnatural pieces together into some semblance of comfortable domesticity. He was the one keeping their family together, thought William, and look at what his family had done to him.

When they arrived home, Charlie and Elizabeth helped Mike to his bedroom, with William trailing behind wishing he could be of more help. Charlie helped Mike out of his boots and coat, muttered an "oh my god" when she saw his hastily-stitched chest, but kept the rest of her shock inside for the time being. William wrung his hands as he stood over the bed, watching.

"Elizabeth," he said and she looked up. "Could you please let Charlie know that, no matter how bad his injuries look, he is going to survive? Because I gave him special medicine? Can you tell her that for me please?"

Elizabeth's doll-features remained motionless but she made a sound of discontent. "We don't think she will like to hear that last part."

"Last part of what?" asked Charlie as she tucked the covers up around Mike's sleeping face. "Is William talking?"

Elizabeth fidgeted with her dress for a moment before answering. "He says that Michael is going to live. He got a special shot and that's why he's going to be okay."

"Is that true?" Charlie asked, looking to where she thought William was standing. William nodded and Elizabeth translated.

Charlie sighed and tucked a few frazzled strands of hair behind her ear. "That's good," she said and her voice seemed very thin. "I don't want to know about the 'special shot,' but if it means he's going to be okay, I'll take it."

William wanted to ask her if she blamed him for what happened to Mike, but he didn't. If she did, he didn't want Elizabeth to be part of that conversation. Charlie sat on the bed and held Mike's hand for a long time. The shadows on the walls grew deeper and the east-facing windows grew dark in the sunset. William stood by the bed, staring down. Elizabeth was worried about Mike as well, but after a while, she grew bored and fidgety and finally Charlie had to stand up.

"Let's get you set up in a room," said Charlie taking Elizabeth's hand and crossing to the door. "Is your dad still in the room?" she asked. Elizabeth nodded and Charlie looked back to where William was standing by the headboard with his hands clasped together. "Can he do anything to Mike?" she asked.

"We don't think so," answered Elizabeth. "He's a ghost now and he can't touch anything even if he tries."

Charlie turned back around towards the hall. "Okay," she said. "That's okay then, I guess. We have a guest room downstairs that I think will work great."

With that, they left William in the bedroom standing over Michael. William didn't know whether Charlie had left him there because she trusted him, truly believed that he couldn't do anything else to hurt Mike, or if she was just too sad and tired to care anymore. Probably not the last one. William moved to sit on the end of the bed, but he felt like, if Mike woke up he might not want him that close to him, so he sat on the floor by his head instead. He watched the slow rise and fall of the covers as Mike pulled rattling breaths through his battered lungs. William counted Mike's breath, as though one of them might be the last. It crossed his mind that Henry was going to be angry with him for losing his suit and, in doing so, losing his tether to the physical world, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He watched Mike's face sinking into the pillow, looking very young and very old at the same time. Dark lazy curls fell over his eyes and, experimentally, William reached out a hand to brush them away. His fingers passed right through the hair, unable to dislodge them; he had expected as much. Maybe it was better this way.

* * *

A/N: Finally, everyone is out of the Sister Location and back home. Things aren't perfect, but at least everyone is together again.


	11. Bedtime Reading

A/N: Or "Nights Are Long When You Can't Sleep"

**Reply to Dinosaur:** "I almost, unironically, typed 'Addams Family'" Ha ha! The Aftons _wish_ they were as functional and well-adjusted as the Addams family. And how will Henry react to this shitfest? Spoiler: not well.

* * *

William didn't realize how loud his suit was until he was without it. The clicks and groans that the machinery made with every minute movement had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. However, now that he was a soul without a body, now that the suit was divided between two boxes in the garage, the thick silence unnerved him.

To cope with it, he listened to Mike's breathing, which was much louder than it had been when he had fallen asleep in the garage, back when he was totally alive. Whatever state he was in now wasn't death, but William couldn't convince himself that he was fully alive, either. He was in limbo, like the rest of them, but different. That was the perfect way to describe Michael in general, actually. "In but not of" the Afton family. He had escaped a long time ago and just because William had dragged him back in didn't make him like William. Thank God for that.

Mike's breathing quieted down and William craned his neck to see Mike over the lump of blankets, worried that something had happened and William would have to go get Elizabeth who would have to go get Charlie to perform CPR.

"Michael?" he asked quietly. There was no response. William touched the shoulder peeking out above the quilts, even though he knew he couldn't actually touch him. "Are you okay?"

Michael shifted briefly, turned onto his side away from William with a heaving groan, and went still again. Relieved, William sat back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. No CPR for now. It occurred to William that Michael might not even have a heart anymore, his chest just a bruised cavity now, or if he did, it might not be attached to anything that would get blood anywhere significant. For all William knew, the remnant might have just bound Mike's soul to a dead body, but he couldn't let him think about that possibility for too long or he'd have another attack. William hugged his knees tighter and closed his eyes. Whatever had technically happened to Mike, he was alright for now and that's all that mattered.

William stayed seated on the floor until the moon rose outside the window. Michael didn't wake up and he didn't stir except for the slightly asymmetrical rhythm of his breathing. The moonlight was casting a hard blue beam across Mike's bed when Charlie pushed the ajar door fully open. The hallway behind her was dark and William could hardly see her in the doorway. The only part of her the moonlight touched was the hand clasping the doorknob.

"William, are you still in here?" she called quietly.

William climbed to his feet. "Yes," he answered.

Charlie entered the room and stood out of the way of the door, giving William a clear path to the exit. "I'm going to bed, so I need you to leave," she said. "You're free to roam the rest of the house if you'd like, but you need to stay out of our bedroom, understand?"

William didn't respond. There was no reason to and he didn't like having to promise he would leave Mike's side.

"I'm going to assume you agreed and you're on your way out," said Charlie. She gathered a nightshirt and pajama pants from the tall dresser against the wall and, with a hesitating look back at the room, she walked towards the attached bathroom. "Good night," she added like an afterthought before turning on the bathroom light and shutting herself inside.

William didn't leave right away. Part of him thought of hunkering down next to the wall, quiet as a mouse, right next to Michael's head so he could continue monitoring him, but he knew that if Michael woke up at any point in the night and saw him there, William would be banished to the garage. Besides, he didn't want to be in his son and his daughter-in-law's bedroom with them. It was too big of an invasion of privacy, even for him.

He leaned over Mike to examine him once again: making sure he was still breathing, his skin was still staying in place, and he wasn't in any new or unusual pain. Michael seemed to be doing all right for the time being: sleeping soundly, buried in quilts like a newborn. His poor, little boy. William ran his hand over Mike's unruly hair, pretending to smooth it back even though it stayed where it was. He didn't know what, if anything, could be done now for Mike, but William swore that he would try. The remnant had done most of the work already, but if Michael ran into any physical complications because of his new state of being, William decided that he would devote all his energy to figuring out how to alleviate them. It was an easy promise to make when he didn't know what those problems might look like. If Michael really was just a soul attached to a dead body, what did William expect to do? Even so, he promised he'd fix it.

When Michael was very young, five or six years old, William had repaired a wind-up toy that had fallen and broken on the kitchen floor. William had taken it to his shop, replaced a couple of the screws, and hammered out the dents in the casing. It worked fine after that, and it really was an extremely simple fix. It had taken him at most an hour, and that included the time spent hunting for the right size of screws in his tool drawers. When he had brought it back that same afternoon, six-year-old Michael's smile had lit up the room.

"You can fix anything, Daddy!" he had exclaimed and, soon afterward, a crayon drawing showed up pushed under the door to his workshop: a stick figure putting a bandaid on the wind-up toy. William had tacked it up on his wall in the workshop so he could stare at it every day. Then, when he started spending more time in his office at Freddy's, he took the picture with him and tacked it up there next to the monitor where he could see it. When he got older, Michael asked him to take it down, but William refused. No matter what difficulties arose, proclaimed the picture, William could fix them. Even now, after everything, there was still a small kernel lodged deep in his brain that believed that. If he put his mind to it, William could fix anything.

"Goodnight, Michael," William whispered before leaving the bedroom and walking out into the hall.

The house was dark and all locked up for the night. A light rain had begun to fall outside, pattering lazily against the glass, the only sound in the Schmidt-Afton home. The rain and moonlight created wavy patterns across the wood floor in the entryway and splashed across the arms of the sofas in the family room. William padded silently into the den and stood in front of the largest sofa and stared down at the piles of blankets from their movie night just a couple days ago. He looked to where he had sat, holding a plate of sticky pancakes on his lap. He thought of how, the very next day, he had done his best to convince Michael to accompany him to the lab, because this miracle of a second chance hadn't been enough for him. Because he cared more about what Henry thought of him than his own family's wellbeing.

"Well, well, well…"

William turned towards the garage and saw Henry passing through the door. His voice was warm as it always was, but he wasn't smiling. His jaw was clenched hard.

"You went to the lab to get another functioning animatronic body, and you came back with fewer than you left with. Figures." Henry wiped his glasses on his shirt out of habit. "At least you got your daughter back, though, huh? Isn't that nice?"

William didn't know why Henry was saying it in such a sarcastic tone. It was nice to have Elizabeth back, even though the trip didn't go as planned. He didn't get why Henry acted so personally put out by it. Unexpected complications had always been common in their work.

"I-I had hoped she was still around, as you know, back then, but I didn't really think…I didn't think it was actually possible. But there she was. She's a strong girl. She—" William laughed briefly. "—she gave me quite a beating."

Henry didn't laugh with him. "I can see that." He paused and turned to gaze out the window into the backyard. "Do you understand what it means to be a ghost without a vessel, Will?" he asked in the plodding schoolteacher voice he used sometimes that made William feel stupid. Of course William knew what ghosts without suits were like; he had been stalked and basically killed by a pack of them. But Henry wasn't looking for an answer; he was looking for a springboard to launch off of into the rest of his speech, and William wasn't in the mood to oblige him.

When Henry realized William wasn't going to answer, he continued. "You float through a world you're not part of anymore," he said, "You don't change or adapt. You don't make progress and you can't build anything, mechanical or otherwise. It's just you, floating naked in the abyss, alone with your worst thoughts."

William looked back towards the stairs. He pictured Michael sleeping soundly with Charlie curled protectively around him. He thought of Elizabeth in her new room, with a big bed of her own, with toys borrowed from Beth and Sammy's rooms to make the space homier. He wondered if she slept like Michael or if she was awake around the clock like himself. Since she was a possessed animatronic, she probably was more like William in that regard. He wondered if he should check on her, if she would even let him check on her.

"We aren't alone at least," said William. "We have family, and we have each other." He looked back to Henry. "Don't we?"

"Willy," Henry sighed, wiping an exasperated hand over his face. "I don't want to spend eternity here with you." William felt a shock jolt through his heart. "Don't you get that? I want to continue my work, our work, away from this damn house. In California or some other place far away from here. But now we're both trapped. In one afternoon you've managed to set us back years."

The clock on the kitchen wall ticked loudly in the silence. The refrigerator hummed, as though trying to relieve the tension. William picked nervously at his fingers and stared desperately at Henry, but Henry wasn't looking at him. He was still staring out the window at the backyard, towards freedom, and William knew he wasn't thinking of him anymore. He was thinking of the lab, of the outside. How long had it been since Henry had been able to leave this house? It made sense that he'd be itching to leave, but it still hurt. William knew Henry wanted a body, but he had hoped that, if he wasn't able to get one, Henry would settle for staying with William and their combined family; that, even though he would be disappointed, he would eventually be happy with that arrangement. But now, seeing Henry standing so far away from him, thinking of nothing but escape, William realized he had been wrong.

"What were you thinking, being so careless?" asked Henry. "All you had to do was get into the lab, grab one of the five animatronics down there, and get out. It should have only taken fifteen minutes. Zero risk. Zero complications. You even had another pair of hands to help you carry it out and you still fucked it up."

"Fuck you, Henry," William snapped. His chest and cheeks felt white hot.

"Fuck me?" Henry asked, still staring out the window.

"Yes, fuck you," William replied. "I put my son in danger for you and when I come back, all you have to say is how disappointed you are in me."

Henry whipped around and glared at William. "What do you want me to say, Will?" he asked. "Should I thank you for screwing us over again? Do you want me to pat you on the back and say 'There, there,' when it's you who created all these monsters in the first place?" William clenched his fists, feeling the phantom pain of fingernails in his palms. "All I ever wanted to do was perfect remnant, using only as many children as necessary, but you had to go and make it so dangerous and so damn personal, like you always do. On top of that, you destroyed our robots, our only source of income, in a fit of paranoia." He stepped forward and William stepped back.

"Shut up," said William, looking away, but Henry was on a roll.

"You ruined our work," he said. "You destroy everything you touch and I was stupid to think that I'd be the exception."

"I sacrificed everything for you," William said. "I lost my family because of you."

"Whatever happened to your family," Henry grabbed William's jaw and forced him to look him in the eye. "you did yourself. I'm just ashamed that I let you do it to me, too."

William slapped his hand away and stepped back. "Don't touch me." His voice cracked and he felt black tears running down his face. He wiped them away, angry that he looked so weak. "Don't you dare touch me, or I'll kill you too." He strode out of the living room.

"Yes, cry!" Henry called after him. "Poor Willy, go cry like you always do. You've already killed me."

William didn't respond. He slunk off down the first floor hallway and into the bathroom to collect himself. He looked into the mirror, but the reflection was all wrong. His face wasn't red and his nose wasn't running. He was barely there at all. He watched the hallway through the reflection in the mirror, but Henry didn't appear. Wherever he had gone, he wasn't coming after him.

He hadn't fought with Henry like that for a long time. Not since Henry had come into Freddy's that morning thirty years ago and found the floor littered with pieces of animatronics, and William asleep under the desk in his office with his arms wrapped around the ax he had used to dismember them. He yanked the axe away from him and demanded to know what had happened. William told him some tied up version of how the animatronics were possessed and hunting him when he was alone so he had to stop them. Henry jerked the ax back briefly and for a moment William thought he was going to hit him with it, but he didn't. Instead, he pulled William to his feet and ordered him to clean up the damn mess he'd made and put an "Out of Order" sign on the stage. William had never seen him so angry. And now again today.

William thought about spending the rest of the night in the bathroom but the thought of being alone in the dark that long terrified him. So, instead, with a brief scan of the hallway to make sure he wouldn't run into Henry, William crept down the short hallway, past what looked like a shared office space for Mike and Charlie, and to the door at the end, left ajar with the warm glow of a bedside lamp spilling out onto the carpet. He approached the door, but hesitated. What if Elizabeth told him to leave? She had every right to, and she had tried to kill him not too long ago, after all. But William was out of options and he was starved for any company that wasn't Henry's.

He tried knocking on the door, but his hand went through it.

"Um," he said, clearing his throat. "E-Elizabeth?"

He waited for a response. There wasn't one for a while and he thought that maybe she wasn't in there, or she was asleep. He was about to leave, when her soft voice came from inside.

"Yes?" she answered.

"Can I, um, can I come in?"

There was a long pause. "Yes," she said.

William passed carefully through the door. Charlie had set up the guest room to be as cozy as possible on short notice. The bed was made up with fluffy pillows and there were books and toys sitting around that an eight year old might enjoy. Elizabeth, still wearing the Raggedy Ann doll as a skin, was sitting up in bed, surrounded by stuffed animals tucked in around her, reading a comic book that must have come from Beth's room. Her artificial purple eyes shone bright even through the fabric of the doll's face as she stared at him. She didn't get up or ask him what he needed. She was waiting for him to explain.

"Um," William picked his fingers then put his hands into his pockets to control them. "Can I…is it okay if I hang out in here with you tonight?"

Elizabeth didn't answer; she continued staring, the comic book open on her lap, her thumb holding her place. She didn't trust him and she hadn't forgiven him.

William stepped back against the wall, giving her a bit more space. "I-I'll stay over here, if you want," he said quickly. "I just…the house is so dark and I'm awfully bored." He tried to smile but he knew it looked pathetic.

Elizabeth studied him carefully. "Why are you crying?" she asked.

William hurriedly wiped his face. "I'm not," he said. "I'm not crying, Lizzie. I'm just overwhelmed."

Elizabeth slowly closed the comic book and set it aside. They stared at each other, with the rain pattering against the window outside. Thunder rumbled in the distance but it didn't sound like the storm was very close.

"It's okay to cry, Daddy," said Elizabeth. "Mr. Miller says mean things sometimes."

William clenched his hands in his pockets, willing the tears to stop, but they wouldn't. "He does, doesn't he?" he sobbed.

It felt blasphemous to say out loud, but there it was. Henry was mean to him sometimes; he said mean things and treated him poorly, and though most things were William's fault, maybe not absolutely everything was the way Henry made it seem. William loved him so much, he had killed and died for him, so why couldn't Henry manage to love him back just a little bit more? Was William really that unloveable?

He slid to the floor and buried his head in his knees so that Elizabeth wouldn't be able to see him as he fought to suck his tears back. "I'm sorry for whatever you heard," he said. "I'm sorry for everything. You were right to try to kill me, and I'm sorry I came back."

Elizabeth fanned the corners of the pages in thought. Even through the fabric hand, she had quite a bit of dexterity to her mechanical fingers. William didn't dare look up to see what she was thinking. He knew she hated him but he couldn't bear to be alone in the dark house with Henry and he didn't know what he would do if she told him to leave. He couldn't bear it.

"Daddy?" said Elizabeth. William looked up and met her eyes. "Do you like comic books?"

William stared on for a moment trying to understand what she was asking. He wiped his eyes. "Like Howard the Duck?" he asked.

"Well, this one is Spiderman," She held up the comic book and turned it so he could see the cover. It was a thick volume containing multiple individual comics, with a glossy front cover. "It's pretty good. You can borrow it when we are done, if you want to."

"I'd…I'd like that very much," William replied, relieved that she wasn't kicking him out. He wrapped his arms around his knees, ready to wait his turn. "Thank you," he said.

Elizabeth reopened the book on her lap and began reading. William stared at her as she read for a while, but then decided that maybe that was a little creepy to stare at her for so long, and occupied himself with looking around the room instead. The room was a comfortable size—not too big, not too small—and was dominated mostly by the fluffy queen bed in the center of the room. A small dresser with a mirror sat against one wall and there were night stands on both sides of the bed.

Someone, Charlie probably, had set a stack of books on the night stand closest to Elizabeth. The books were all kinds: comic books like the one she was reading, novels, colorful non-fiction books about animals, and even a few coloring books complete with a box of crayons leaning against the lamp. Elizabeth and a small army of stuffed animals were tucked under the quilt on the bed, sinking into the pillows propped against the headboard. The room wasn't as pink as Elizabeth normally liked things, William thought, but it was very nice anyway. It seemed like it was probably warm as well.

Elizabeth glanced up uncertainly, then back down at her book. William gazed at her for a moment, then looked towards the window, its wooden blinds folded flat against the glass.

"Um, Daddy?"

William looked up and met her eyes. "Yes?"

Elizabeth looked away, down at the stuffed animals beside her. She moved her legs under the blankets. "It's kind of a long comic book and some of the words are hard," she said. "So, if you want to read it at the same time as us, that's okay."

William smiled. "Oh, okay," he said, getting to his feet. "Should I stay over here or…"

"You can come sit on the bed with us, if you want to," Elizabeth replied, looking away as though she didn't trust that what she had offered was a good idea.

William slowly approached the bed. He sat down at the far end and folded his hands in his lap.

"You won't be able to read it from all the way down there," Elizabeth added.

With a glance up to make sure it was okay, William scooted closer. Elizabeth lifted the stuffed animals out of the bed and shifted to make room. William's heart felt like it might break under such heavy happiness. He sat against the headboard, crossed his outstretched legs, and leaned over Elizabeth's shoulder so he could see the page. He wanted to wrap his arm around her but he thought that might be too much. Elizabeth flipped the book back to the beginning.

"No, it's okay," protested William. "I can read from wherever you left off."

"It's not going to make sense unless you start from the beginning," Elizabeth explained. "Don't worry. We weren't very far in."

William smiled. "All right," he conceded. "We can start over."

They read together in silence, only broken every few minutes when Elizabeth asked if William was ready for her to turn the page. As Spiderman got closer to finding the Green Goblin, Elizabeth scooted closer to her father; very slowly, William put his arm around her shoulder and Elizabeth snuggled in close. She couldn't actually lean against him and he couldn't actually rest his arm on her, but it was nice to pretend they could, like in the old days. Michael had never been a hugger and George had kept mostly to himself, but Elizabeth had always wanted to cuddle just as much as William. He remembered that they used to spend a lot of time together, just like this. He missed it.

Elizabeth closed the comic book just after three in the morning. The rain had stopped and the wind was dying down. She set the book on the bedside table but didn't grab another one. She just stared ahead, her purple eyes glowing through the smiling doll's face. William thought that maybe she was tired and wanted to go to bed, but that probably wasn't the case since she was a ghost like him. But maybe she wanted to be left alone; maybe that was enough closeness for one night. William pulled his arm sheepishly out from around her shoulders.

"Would you like me to leave?" he asked.

Elizabeth scrunched her fingers in the quilt. Her hesitation stung, but William tried not to let her see that it fazed him. These weren't the old days, he reminded himself, and he wasn't the same father he used to be. Or maybe he was, and the only difference was that now she knew the real him. She had every reason to want to keep her distance.

"It's not that," she said. "Nights are always too long. We miss sleeping."

"Yeah," William picked at a hole in his sleeve. "Me too."

"We get bored," she continued. William wanted to ask what she did in the lab to keep herself occupied, but decided not to. He didn't want her to think of the lab any more than necessary.

"Do you want to see the rest of the house?" he offered.

Elizabeth looked up at him. "Do you think Mike and Charlie would be okay with it?"

"I think so," William replied. "Just so long as we're quiet and don't break anything."

"What about Mr. Miller?" she asked.

William paused. He thought of Henry waiting for them in the living room with more choice things to say. "I think he'll leave us alone if you're with me," he said finally. Henry could be unkind, but he didn't like to make a scene. The most he ever did to William in public was jab him with passive aggressive quips.

"Well," Elizabeth looked up at the door. "We guess it would be okay. We'll be quiet."

She pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The soft fabric body allowed for a wide range of movement and William wondered why he and Henry hadn't gone with cloth suits for the mechanical endoskeletons rather than bothering with springlocks and metal casings. It would have saved them a lot of money and time. William slid off the bed as well and walked with her to the door. He reached for her hand out of habit but she jerked it away.

"Sorry," he said, taking a step to the side to give her more space. "You don't have to hold my hand."

"Sorry, Daddy," said Elizabeth. "it's just that we are already eight, you know? We're not five anymore. We only held Mike's hand in the lab because he was scared."

"Oh," William's shoulders sank in relief. "Of course. Sorry. You're not a little kid anymore. I understand." Eight-year-olds didn't like their parents to hold their hands, he remembered. When had Mike decided that hand-holding was for babies? Five; six?

"Thank you," said Elizabeth. She opened the door and stepped through into the dark hallway. William followed her out. He stayed close to Elizabeth as they walked down the hall, scanning the area for Henry. There was no sign of him. When they entered the living room, Henry wasn't there either. He must have retreated to the garage or gone upstairs, thought William. Maybe he was avoiding them as well. Whatever the reason for his absence, William was thankful.

William guided Elizabeth further into the den. "This is the living room where Mike, Charlie, and the kids watch movies."

Elizabeth crouched over the largest couch and picked up one of the blankets, a blue one with stars, to examine it. "Do you watch with them?" she asked.

"Sometimes," said William. "Once." He had been so nervous during the movie he had watched with the family, so nervous and so happy at the same time, holding Sammy's plate of pancakes and trying not to make eye contact with Charlie.

"We would like to watch movies with the kids when they come back," said Elizabeth. She rubbed the blanket against her face briefly before folding it and setting it back on the couch. The words were hopeful, but her slumped posture made her look mournful. "If they aren't too scared."

William laughed briefly. "Hey, if they were willing to do a movie night with me, they should have no problem with you." Elizabeth straightened one of the pillows. "You're as fun and kind and cute as ever," he continued. "They'll love you, I promise."

She looked up and the smiling stitched face seemed a little brighter.

"Can we see the back yard?" she asked.

"Of course," said William. He stepped around the coffee table towards the back door. He saw movement at his side and when he looked down, he saw that Elizabeth had taken his hand. He smiled. "I-I've never been outside, myself, but I think it should be okay," he said. "You will need to turn the locks yourself, though."

Elizabeth flipped the deadbolt. She gripped the doorknob and, after a slight hesitation, she turned it and pulled the door open. Fresh night air blew into the house, rustling Elizabeth's skirt and yarn braids. The clouds had blown away, leaving a sky of crystal black made slightly gray by the city lights. The moon shone brightly from overhead, casting a shadow of the house into the yard. Elizabeth took a careful step out onto the deck and then another. William stayed back for a moment, worried that if he left the house, he would disintegrate and blow away, but finally, he followed Elizabeth. Nothing happened except the moonlight made it harder for him to see himself.

The neighborhood was quiet with only the barest of road noise drifting from the freeway nearby. An owl hooted from a tree in the neighbor's yard and something rustled in a trashcan on the curb.

Elizabeth stared up at the sky for a long time, drinking it in. She hadn't gotten to see the stars since 1982, William realized. Because of the wind and the clear sky, it seemed like it was a cold night, but neither William nor Elizabeth felt it. Elizabeth walked further out onto the deck, dragging William along behind. She went over to the barbecue that had been tucked under the eaves and opened the lid with a loud screech. She ran her hand over the blackened grate and looked at her sooty fingers in wonder. Then she went to the hot tub built into the furthest portion of the deck by the railing. She let go of William's hand and pushed the padded cover up so that she could see inside.

Chlorine fumes wafted up into their faces from the steaming water. William hunched over and, experimentally, stuck his hand in. The water didn't react and he didn't feel the heat, but the image of his hand refracted under the surface, making it look like it was long and distorted and bending the wrong direction. He put his arm in all the way up to his shoulder and, under the water, it looked like it reached clear to the other side. Elizabeth giggled and leaned in to get a better look, but she knew better than to put her own hand into the water. William pulled himself out from under the cover, completely dry, and Elizabeth set it back into place. She walked to the edge of the deck and skipped down the stairs.

"Careful," William warned.

Elizabeth obediently grabbed onto the railing. She ran out into the grass, her endoskeleton clicking underneath the fabric as she twirled and stared up at the sky.

"It's beautiful," she said.

William put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the railing. "It is," he agreed. If he squinted, Elizabeth almost looked like she had back then, back before the accident. She didn't always wear a skirt, but when she did, she was adamant that it had to be able to twirl. No silly jean skirts or long stretchy skirts. The closer they were to ballet tutus, the better.

"Mike turned into a very nice grown-up, didn't he?" Elizabeth asked.

"He sure did," William replied.

"Charlie too," said Elizabeth. "They're both very nice."

"They are," said William, "and Beth and Sammy are, too."

She stopped twirling. "Everyone grew up so fast," she said. "But we will never grow up. We will be eight forever."

She sat down in the grass. The owl hooted close by and another responded from further away. Elizabeth shouldn't have to deal with things like this at her age, but she did, and there was no way William could protect her from it. He walked down the stairs and sat beside her.

"I'm going to be forty forever," he said. Elizabeth didn't respond; she picked the grass instead. "I know you wanted to get rid of me—"

"We had to stop you from hurting people," Elizabeth said. "We didn't want to get rid of you, but we had to keep everyone safe."

"I know," said William. "I understand. But what I'm trying to say is, I'm going to be here a long time—a very long time—and you don't have to hang around me if you don't want to, but if you do, I'm here forever, okay?"

"Okay." Elizabeth was quiet. "Are we a murderer?" she asked.

"Of course not!" William knelt in front of her. "You could never be a murderer, Lizzie, not even close. Don't ever think that, not ever, you understand me?"

"But we tried to kill you," said Elizabeth.

"You did it for Michael," said William. "And besides, I'm already dead. I don't want to hear any more murder talk." Her expression changed, which threw him off guard. He was getting into touchy territory and he knew it. "Not about you being a murderer, at least," he amended. "And not about, um, just…no murder talk in general, okay? We've already had too much of that."

"You don't get to say that," Elizabeth said quietly, purple eyes glaring up at him.

William stared down at his knees. "No, I don't," he agreed. His clothes had small holes all over where the springlocks had punctured him. A few had gone through his kneecaps, straight through to the back. Those had been some of the most painful. "I'm still here because of what I did, and I've accepted that," he continued, "but you're not here because you did anything wrong, so I don't want you to be sad."

"You're here because of the children?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes, probably," answered William. "That's why I couldn't leave, even when you broke my suit."

There was movement under the fabric of the doll's arms as Elizabeth's cables shifted and rewound. "You probably have unfinished business," she said.

"Maybe, but I don't know what business that would be. The children I—um—they've already moved on. I don't know what there would be left for me to do."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Maybe you've just been put in time out and you don't have to do anything in particular except wait."

Hell of a time out chair, thought William. "I hope you're right," he said. "But even so, I think I got really lucky that I don't have to do this alone."

"We don't want you to do your time out alone either, Daddy," Elizabeth said quietly.

A third owl called from far away. It was barely audible, but the other two belted out answering hoots, maybe to show it where to fly, or maybe just to assure it that it wasn't by itself.

"Thanks, Lizzie," William replied. "That means a lot." He looked back at the house and thought he caught a glimpse of pink glow disappearing in the kitchen. "Hey, um, are you ready to go back inside?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth. She crawled onto her knees and pushed herself to her feet. "We can read another book."

William kept his eyes locked on the kitchen through the glass in the door, but the glow didn't return. "That sounds good," he said. He stood up as well and they walked into the house.

Elizabeth locked the door and they were on their way back to her room when William stopped. "Why don't you go ahead and pick one out?" he said with a smile. "I have to go do something really quick, but I'll be right back."

Elizabeth stopped in the doorway. "What do you have to do?"

"I just have to check on something, but I'll be right back. I promise."

Elizabeth glanced around his shoulder, trying to piece it together, but there was nothing to see. "Okay," she conceded and went inside. "Say 'knock knock' before you come in, okay Daddy?"

"Will do," William grinned. Elizabeth closed the door and William immediately stopped smiling.

He turned back towards the kitchen and walked through it and into the garage. As he had expected, Henry was inside the garage in the dark. The two large boxes of the remains of the Springbonnie suit were sitting in the middle of the floor and Henry was on his knees, sifting through them as best he could. Henry glanced up briefly then set his attention back onto the boxes.

"What a load of worthless shit," he grumbled. "Half of the contents of these boxes are twisted up pieces of metal and fur, and the other half are mashed up pieces of you. I feel like I'm digging through a box of goddamned Halloween decorations."

"I want you to leave," said William. He stayed far over by the door, feet planted and fists clenched at his sides as if bracing himself for a fight.

Henry looked up again, his glasses obscuring his eyes but doing little to hide his expression of irritated disbelief. "I want to leave too, you idiot," he said. "That's why we need to put this suit together so that one of us can go back to the lab and bring another one back."

"No, I want you to leave now," said William. His heart no longer beat, but he felt it hammering in his chest anyway. "You can have the suit, but you need to go."

Henry stared at him silently, trying to process what he was hearing, as though never in a million years had he expected William to say something like this. "I need to go, huh?" he said, his tone and expression flat.

"Yes," said William, feeling himself begin to shake. "I want to stay here with my family and you want to leave to continue researching, so I think it's best if we split up."

"Are you saying you're not coming with me?"

William nodded. He felt a lump forming in his throat. No, he scolded himself. Stop it.

Henry got to his feet and started walking towards him. William backed up a step but then held his ground after that. He rolled his shoulders back and stood up tall, trying to convince himself through body posture that he was brave. Henry came all the way up to William's face, until William could almost feel his bristly beard pricking his chin.

"After all this time," Henry whispered, "you want to throw in the towel, just like that?" He pointed at the kitchen. "For them?"

"They're my family," William whispered back.

"They don't care about you," Henry said. "They let you rot in Fazbear's for decades and even now they wish they could take you back and leave you there." William flinched. "I'm sorry, Will, but it's true. I can see it in their eyes. They're never going to love you like you want them to."

William swallowed, feeling the shadow of adrenaline snaking up his limbs. "Maybe not," he said, "but neither will you, and at least with them, I have a chance."

Henry stepped back, confused. "Pardon?" he asked.

William took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "I love you, Henry," he said, voice shaking but strong. "I've always loved you, but I know I'm never going to be good enough for you—"

"Now wait a minute—"

"—so I want us to stop wasting our time playing this ridiculous game—"

"I never said—"

"—I'm letting you go," said William. "You don't want to be here, and I—"

"—Will—"

"—I think I'm better off without you," William finished.

Henry didn't know how to respond. In all their years together, all the long nights in the lab, the long days at Freddy's, the happiest and saddest times of their lives, William had never seen Henry look so lost, so vulnerable. When he looked like that, William wanted to say, "Just kidding!" and take him back, but he knew that wasn't an option if he wanted to move forward. As long as he and Henry were working together, William's family would suffer. There was no guarantee that the suffering would stop with Henry out of the picture, but William felt like something about their relationship brought out the utter worst in them both.

"Maybe," said William, "if we're apart, we'll both be happier."

Henry stared at him, shoulders sagging, forehead creased hard as leather. "I had no idea," he whispered.

"Bullshit," William replied quietly. "Yes, you did."

The darkness around them started to fade into gray and William thought the sun must be coming up but when he glanced out the garage window, it was still black as night outside. And yet, the garage was getting lighter and lighter. William looked around the room for the source of the light. It had gotten so bright that it cast sharp shadows behind the furniture and boxes. Suddenly, and William didn't know why he didn't notice sooner, he saw that the light was coming from the center of the room right behind Henry. Henry noticed at the same time and they both turned to face it. When Henry did, the wound in his chest began to shine its own light with the same intensity.

Henry looked at William desperately. "What the hell is that?" he asked.

"I…" William scrambled for his voice. He noticed that his own wounds weren't glowing. "I think it's…death."

Henry turned his gaze back to the bright light, which now looked like a tear in the center of the room. Almost as if in a trance, he stepped towards it. William grabbed his hand to stop him. He was trying to break up with Henry, not exorcise him.

"It's okay, Will," Henry said. "I've wanted this for a very long time." He smiled sadly. "And you're probably right about us being better apart."

He gave William's hand a firm, professional shake. Then the shake turned into a hug. William squeezed Henry hard, holding on for dear life. He buried his face in Henry's shoulder.

"Please don't go," William begged; he couldn't help himself. "I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did," said Henry. He patted his back before releasing him. "Sorry I wasn't a better pal. Carry on our research, will you?"

William shook his head. "I can't promise that," he choked.

"I thought as much," said Henry. He let go of William's hand but William held his tight. Henry didn't fight him; he just waited. Finally, William loosened his grip.

Henry took a deep breath and looked between William and the light. "Will you keep an eye on Charlotte at least?"

William nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I can do that."

Henry smiled one last time, staring full at William, as though filling up his memory with him for the long afterlife ahead. "I can't believe it was you all along," he said, almost to himself. Then he turned towards the light and both he and the light winked out.

The garage was thick with darkness and quiet. William felt like all his bones had been hollowed out, as if Henry had been his very DNA and now everything that kept William's atoms from being pulled apart by the pressure in the air was gone. So he let the pressure pull him apart. He felt himself sloughing off like ash, like smoke, never to be seen again.

But that didn't actually happen, because sometime later, Elizabeth went into the garage and found him lying on the floor. And she went to him and sat beside him and when she did, it reminded him that he was still in one piece and that Henry had really gone, that it had all really happened. When he realized that, he cried, but crying didn't hurt enough, so he screamed.

* * *

A/N: And here Henry thought that it was Charlie's unprocessed feelings that were keeping him stuck on earth...

Is this a turning point for our Billiam?


	12. The Last Straw

A/N: It's the aftermath of a lot of things. Is Mike okay? Is William? Is anyone, in this circus of a family?

* * *

Mike woke to the sound of the shower turning off. His eyes were glued shut with old blood and when he got them open, he saw that it was the afternoon. The blinds had been shut, but the midday sun still snuck through the cracks and spilled across the bed.

To say he hurt all over would have been a gross understatement; his gut ached where his organs used to be and his head pulsed where Elizabeth's eyes had been lodged. All this was good news to Mike, though, because it meant that he wasn't dead yet. With a rattling groan, he managed to sit up but when he did, his head swam with vertigo. He cupped his face in his hands and curled over, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

His bloody jacket and his shoes lay strewn across the carpet, but he was still wearing the shirt and pants from the day before. Against the backdrop of his father's horror-filled lab, Mike hadn't realized just how bloody he was, but when tucked between clean sky blue sheets and a down comforter, it was appalling and he did his best to avoid touching things until he could get cleaned up.

Mike pulled his legs sluggishly to the side to dangle off the bed, then took another head-in-hands vertigo break. This was ridiculous, he thought, how could he be nauseated without a stomach? When he felt like he could stay sitting up without falling back over, he released his head and turned his hands in the light. They looked bad; they had a sickly green tint to them and they were covered in deep cuts where the endoskeleton had pulled too hard and wounded him. The cuts hadn't closed or scabbed over, which was troubling because it meant they weren't healing, but at least they didn't look any worse than they had yesterday. For now, he just needed to stop them from getting worse, and then later he could work on figuring out how to get them to heal if that was even possible.

Using gravity as momentum, Mike leaned off the bed and made it to his feet. He almost pitched over onto his face but was able to put his leg out and steady himself. The hairdryer turned on in the bathroom. Mike looked down at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was four o'clock, meaning he had slept for, what, twenty-six hours? If that was the case, he figured he would feel better than he did after that kind of rest, but he still felt sleep-deprived. He wondered if this was the way it was always going to be.

With slow, careful steps, Michael crossed the room to the bathroom. He knocked on the door and the hairdryer turned off. Charlie didn't answer him but Mike heard the door unlock and it pulled open. She was standing there in her white, fuzzy robe, her hair half-dry and sticking up in odd places, her cheeks red from the heat of the shower; to Mike, she had never looked more beautiful.

"I…" Mike hesitated, attempting a smile. "I think I need a bath," he said. "And maybe a toothbrush."

Charlie set the hairdryer onto the short counter by the sink and wrapped Mike in a long, tight hug. She smelled like tea-tree oil, her favorite shampoo. Mike realized that his sense of smell still worked, that he could still smell her, and the realization made his knees feel like they were going to give out.

"I'm getting blood all over your robe," he muttered into her shoulder.

"I don't care," Charlie said and hugged him tighter to prove it to him.

Mike wondered what Charlie had been up to while he was asleep. He hoped that she hadn't been worrying too much about him, but he knew she probably was. Just the fact that she was taking a shower at 4 PM made him think that she had probably been sitting beside him all day, waiting for him to wake up and that she had finally decided to take a break and tend to a couple of her own needs.

"Are you hungry?" Charlie asked as she let go of him. "I could scramble some eggs, or heat up soup if that would be easier to swallow."

Michael thought about softening the truth of what he was, but he didn't have the energy to. Besides, this was Charlie; if he couldn't tell her the whole truth, who could he tell?

"I don't think I can eat anymore," said Michael. "you know, physically. I can tell you more of the details if you want, but it's pretty gross."

Charlie took his hands in hers. "I want to know," she said. "I need to know everything."

Mike sighed. "Okay," he said. "Well, to keep it simple, I got my guts scooped out by a machine in the lab. Then Elizabeth used me as a meat puppet for a few hours—which was actually just a big misunderstanding, she thought I was our dad—and my dad injected me with a serum he called 'remnant' that kept me from dying from said scooping and meat puppeting. Now I'm missing most of my major organs, almost all of them except my lungs and maybe my heart, but I survived. Somehow."

Charlie didn't respond right away.

"I know, it's super gross," said Mike.

Charlie focused her attention on Mike's hands. "Wow," she said, lacing her fingers between them and closing them together like the petals of a flower. "Well, that explains the stitches." Mike nodded. He wanted to pull his tattered shirt further closed so Charlie wouldn't have to look at the wound, but he didn't want to let go of Charlie. "I knew it had been bad, but I didn't realize just how bad," she continued. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I wish I'd been there."

"It wouldn't have done any good," said Mike. "I fell into a trap and everything that came afterward was done to fix things. Elizabeth and my dad did everything they could to save me."

Charlie scowled at the floor. "Your dad," she said, as though it was a curse word. "Did he make you go down there?"

"No," Mike replied. Charlie gave him a look. "Honest. He wanted my help cleaning it out and I said I would. He was looking for closure. Neither of us knew Elizabeth was down there."

"He played you, Mike," Charlie said quietly.

"If he did, he paid for it," Mike replied. He looked into her eyes. "I just want to let this one go, okay? Is that bad?"

Charlie sighed. "No, it's understandable, " she said. "And like you said, he's already paid for it." She squeezed his hands. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

Mike let her lead him into the bathroom. "Okay," he agreed.

She turned the bathtub faucet on and waited for it to warm up. Michael flipped the lid of the toilet seat down, sat on it, and slowly started pulling the remains of his shredded t-shirt up over his head. The angle he had his arms in sent new sparks of pain deep into his stomach, so he lowered them and tried to find a different way to remove it.

"You might need to settle for a sponge bath for now," said Charlie, running a washcloth under the water. Noticing his struggle, she set down the washcloth and helped him wriggle the shirt up over his head. She held it up to examine what was left of the band graphic on the front: the gash in the center of the shirt was so wide that it almost looked like a vest, and the blood that soaked it had turned the royal blue cotton a black purple. It had been one of Mike's favorite shirts.

"Sorry, Mike," she said, dropping the t-shirt into the wastebasket. "I think this one's retired."

"Nirvana will forgive us," said Mike with a weak grin as he reached for the washcloth.

Charlie grabbed it before he could. "I'll do that," she said, wringing it out. "Let me at least do something."

"You've done a ton already," said Mike. Charlie wiped his chest in long, gentle strokes, mopping clean lines through the blood and old machine oil while being careful not to snag the stitches.

"It doesn't help though, does it? Not really." She rinsed the washcloth in the bathtub and set to work again. "No matter what I do, it's not going to fix what William did to you."

"He didn't do this to me."

"Yes, he did." Charlie's eyes sparked like flint. "You know he did." She looked away suddenly and wrung out the washcloth again. "Sorry. I forgot. We're letting this one go."

She wiped Mike's face tenderly with the tip of the washcloth, cleaning the dried blood off of his cheek. With great effort, Mike lifted his hand and wrapped it around hers. She looked away, and for a moment, there was a crack in her strong facade and Mike saw just how much this whole situation was hurting her. He leaned towards her, closer and closer, and her big brown eyes looked into his as if waiting for him to say something. He kissed her carefully: just a brush of their lips together, in case she didn't want to kiss him anymore in the cold, half-dead state he was in. She didn't pull back, but she didn't reciprocate, either.

Mike started to sit back, self-consciously wiping the blood off of his lips that he was sure was still there. "Sorry," he said, "I'm gross, I know. But when I thought I was going to die back there in the lab, all I could think of was you—"

Charlie wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, not the tiny peck he had given her, but a long, full, honeymoon kiss. Mike lifted his hands, ignoring the achy protests from his ribs, and ran his fingers through her hair, savoring the warmth radiating from her skin. He hadn't realized just how worried he had been that his relationship with Charlie had changed, that she wouldn't want to do stuff like this with him anymore. But when she kissed him, the tension melted away and with it, some of the pain. As long as Charlie still loved him, they could make this new form of living work; they could make anything work, as they always did.

When Charlie went to live with her aunt after her mom left, they had lost contact. Charlie was out of the state and Mike had his hands full trying to keep his problematic father out of trouble—if Mike only knew how much trouble his father had been in at the time. Mike had seen Charlie briefly at her father's funeral, but he barely got to talk to her beyond offering his condolences because her Aunt Jen and Mike's Uncle Carl were both on high alert, fighting off the reporters lurking around the cemetery. They had whisked them out of the public eye as soon as the service was over. No one knew at that time that Mike's father had died as well; because everyone assumed William was still alive and had fled the scene of the crime, there was no funeral for him.

When Michael went to live with his uncle, he had a lot of time on his hands. For the first year living in the new town, Michael didn't want to make any friends and so he didn't. He spent almost all of his free time either on the secondhand computer Uncle Carl had given him or, when Uncle Carl shooed him out of the house, at the local coffee shop with the latest Stephen King novel tucked into his backpack. Mike spent most of high school like that—chatting online at home, which annoyed his uncle because it tied up the phone line, or reading novels in various coffee shops, libraries, and public parks. He almost successfully buried his Freddy's-contaminated past, until, during his senior year, he got a friend request on Myspace from a user named xxCharliBoulevard666xx. He went to her profile, read her bio and looked at her pictures. There were no photos of the user's face, but damn if the profile picture didn't look like the kind of Invader Zim-esque drawings Charlie always used to make: except drawn with much more skill now, of course. Suddenly, all the memories of Freddy's, of Mike's family, of the Millers, of Charlie came flooding back, everything he had tried to lock away. But it was just a coincidence, he thought, that this Charlie reminded him of the Charlie he used to know, and he was just being paranoid.

Mike accepted her friend request, regardless, and they started chatting. After a few days of liking each other's pictures, Charlie sent him a message at four in the morning—Charlie told him later that she had stayed up all night wondering if she should send it—and asked if he was Michael Afton. Michael didn't answer right away, afraid that this Charlie was someone who had been following the case, maybe even a deep undercover reporter. After all, while he hadn't put his full name on his profile and all the photos he uploaded were grainy since he took them on his flip phone and edited beyond recognition, they were still photos of his face. Even so, he had to know the answer to the question that had been nagging at the back of his brain, he had to know if this was the Charlie he had grown up with, so he messaged her back and discovered that it was. They began talking—about life, about Freddy's, about everything—and they never stopped. Charlie had given him a new reason to live and, when Elizabeth had scooped him in the lab, all he could think about was how much he wanted to see Charlie and the kids again.

Charlie released him. "Thinking about you, worried for your safety, that's my line," she said with a raw smile. "When I got home and you and William weren't here, I was so scared I'd never see you again." She brushed the hair out of his eyes. "As long as I have you back, I don't care what 'state' you're in, so I don't want to hear you calling yourself gross anymore, okay?"

Mike cupped Charlie's face in his hands. "If I say it to myself in the mirror, you'll never know," he joked.

Charlie smirked and gave him a quick kiss on the nose. "I'll know," she said.

She continued to wipe the blood and dirt off of him. When his skin was finally clean, Michael lathered his hair with shampoo and rinsed it out under the bathtub faucet. Charlie let him do this alone and went into the other room to find a set of clean clothes for him. When he came into the bedroom, drying off his hair, there was a heavy crewneck sweatshirt and a pair of warm sweatpants spread out on the bed.

"I figured comfort was more important than style today," Charlie explained.

"Thanks, Charlie."

"Of course," she replied.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Mike quickly wrapped the towel around himself, just in case Elizabeth decided to come in without waiting.

"Yes?" Charlie called.

"It's Elizabeth," came the soft reply through the door. "May we come in?"

"Just a minute," said Mike. He quickly changed into the clean clothes and threw the rest of the bloody garments into the bathroom wastebasket. When he did, he caught a glimpse of himself in the partially foggy mirror and deflated a little; he looked like a washed corpse. He glanced out at Charlie, who was removing the dirty sheets and blankets from the bed and piling them on the floor to wash, but she hadn't caught him grimacing at himself in the mirror. Mike shrugged it off and opened the door to Elizabeth. The Raggedy Ann doll jumped at first but upon seeing Mike alive and functioning, her shoulders relaxed.

"You're awake!" she said with relief. "Thank goodness. When you didn't wake up this morning, we were worried but Charlie told us you would be okay. And she was right."

"She always is," Mike chuckled. He started to cross his arms but that hurt his chest so he let them fall at his sides again.

"I heard that," Charlie called playfully from inside the room.

"What's up?" asked Mike.

Elizabeth fidgeted with her dress. "Well, Daddy is in the garage right now and he's very sad," she said. She paused and picked at a thread that was coming undone in her lace hem.

"Why is he sad?" asked Michael evenly as Charlie joined him in the doorway.

"We don't know," she replied. "He didn't want to tell us, and he told us not to tell you he was upset. But he cried and cried all night and all of today and he's not getting better. We're worried that he might be broken for real." Mike and Charlie exchanged a look. "When you talk to him," Elizabeth continued, "could you please not say that we told?"

"We won't," said Mike. "Right, Charlie?"

"No," agreed Charlie. "We wouldn't dream of it."

"Good," said Elizabeth. She grabbed Mike's hand and turned back toward the hall. "Come on."

She led him down the hall and down the stairs—Mike had to take them slowly with both hands on the railing to keep from falling with Charlie following close behind. The house felt different now: something was in the air, or rather something was missing from the air. It wasn't exactly a scent, but it was something like that. Mike tried to pinpoint what it was, but he couldn't. With a firm hold on Mike's cut-up hand, Elizabeth pulled him through the kitchen and to the garage. Mike gripped the doorknob and looked back at Charlie.

"I'll put the sheets in the wash," she said, pointing back towards the closet with the washing machine and dryer. "I think this is an Afton thing." With that, she exited the kitchen and left Mike and Elizabeth to deal with William. Bracing himself, Mike slowly opened the door.

"Dad?" he called quietly. "You in here?"

In the darkness of the garage, he saw a glowing mass on the floor by the boxes of Springbonnie's remains. At first, it looked like a pile of glowing clothes, but as Mike entered the garage, he realized it was William curled up on the floor. William lifted his head and Mike saw that his face was dripping with black tears. His hair was a mess and, if possible, he looked even more disheveled than he had the day before. William looked shocked to see Elizabeth and even more so to see Mike.

"Michael," he hiccuped, picking himself up off the floor. "You're okay, thank God."

"Yeah," said Mike as he approached. "I'm okay. But what about you? What's wrong?"

William suddenly wiped at the copious amounts of black tears but as soon as he did, more took their place. "Nothing's wrong, nothing, I'm just—" His voice broke like glass and he covered his face with shaking hands. "I'm such a selfish idiot."

Elizabeth hadn't been exaggerating when she said William seemed worse than normal. His features were worn and his hollow eyes were deeper and darker than before, haunted with a kind of aggressive, cliffs edge insanity; Mike wondered briefly if it was the same look the children had seen in Springbonnie's eyes before they went missing. Mike knelt beside his father and started to say something, but William stood up before he got the chance.

"I'm sorry," said William. He turned away from Mike and Elizabeth in an effort to hide himself, as though he was embarrassed that he was crying but couldn't make himself stop. He wiped his face with nervous obsession.

Mike got to his feet. "Dad—"

"No," William said, drifting toward the wall with the bookshelf. "Dammit I can't, I'm just, she wasn't supposed to—I'm sorry, please leave me alone." He walked through the wall and disappeared before Mike could respond. Mike and Elizabeth were left alone in the garage. They stared at the bookshelf wall together.

Elizabeth made a sighing sound. "We thought you could help him," she said, "but we might have just made it worse by telling."

"No, you did the right thing," said Mike. He scratched the back of his neck where the sweatshirt tag was irritating his skin. He crouched over the boxes of Springbonnie pieces and pensively picked up one of the broken rabbit ears; it was the right ear, the one that had been missing its top section even before going down into the lab. It had made William look like he was always cocking his head to the side when he was listening. "He's had a stressful couple of days and it probably finally hit him all at once."

Elizabeth stayed standing. "But he was so happy last night," she protested, "and then all of a sudden, he wasn't. We even read a book together and played in the hot tub."

Mike looked back over his shoulder in shock. "You what?"

"We lifted up the top and Daddy stuck his arm in the water to make us laugh," she explained.

Mike relaxed. "Oh," he said. He thought Elizabeth was going to say that she and William had sat in the hot tub together as though it was a normal thing for a ghost and a robot to do. Mike imagined Elizabeth's wires shorting out the hot tub and then herself.

Elizabeth rubbed her arms and stared at the wall. "If he went through that wall, he probably ended up in the back yard, right?" Without waiting for a response, Elizabeth strode towards the garage door, looking very artificial for a moment.

"Liz, wait." Mike got to his feet, still holding the ear. "He said he wanted to be left alone for a while and I think we should respect that." Elizabeth looked at him and crossed her arms. "He'll talk when he's ready," Mike continued when he saw that Elizabeth didn't believe him. "Dad loves to talk, remember?"

"Not about important things," said Elizabeth. She looked back towards the wall again. Mike almost expected the center of the wall to start glowing again with that cold bluish-purple aura that surrounded William as a spirit; he expected him to come back to the garage looking for company, willing to talk about whatever it was that had upset him so much. But he didn't.

Elizabeth was right; even though William liked to talk, he didn't like to talk about anything that might threaten what little security he was able to scrape together. When they were children, William would talk to them about new animatronic designs, but he only uttered the word 'remnant' once when he was very drunk and even then, he didn't talk about what it was or how much time he and Henry spent working on it. He had kept the underground lab secret for Mike's entire childhood. Maybe it was William's usually loose-lipped demeanor that made Mike think that he couldn't possibly have any secrets. After all, he freely shared his paranoid theories about their neighbors and his financial frustrations whenever the whim took him: at the breakfast table, driving to ballet or baseball practice, mentioning it casually between bites of french fries at their Friday outings at the local burger place.

When he was angry, he yelled; when he was sad, he cried; when he was stressed, he complained. Because of this behavior, Mike had thought his father was an open book up until the news of the murders surfaced. When it did, Mike realized that underneath his father's free-for-all wealth of emotions, he kept a locked box buried deep in his mind; the things William put into that box never saw the light of day unless they were dragged out against his will, as they had been by Henry's suicide note. Since William's participation in the murders had been revealed, Mike assumed—foolishly, he realized now—that the locked box must be empty, but that wasn't necessarily true. There could be any number of additional secrets he was still keeping.

"He really didn't say anything?" asked Mike.

Elizabeth shook her head. "He mostly just cried," she said, "Sometimes he said, 'I'm sorry,' or Charlie's dad's name, but that's it." She took a book off of the shelf and opened it, curious. She flipped absently through the pages as Mike watched, trying to put the pieces together of what she had just told him.

William must have found out that Henry had died, thought Mike. Maybe Elizabeth knew somehow and had let it slip, but then again, how would Elizabeth know? On the other hand, how else would he have found out, except by overhearing Mike or Charlie talking about it, and if he found out through them, why had it taken so long for it to affect him?

"He was saying, 'Henry'?" asked Mike. Elizabeth nodded again. "Do you have any idea why he'd be saying that?"

"Probably because they had a fight and Mr. Miller said some mean things to Daddy that made him upset." She bent the cover of the book back, testing if it could fold without breaking the spine. "But Daddy wasn't sad enough to cry all night about it. He cried for a little bit but then we read a comic book and he was okay after that."

Mike could still remember Henry's big presence and his warm smile like cinnamon-roll dough, pulled tight across his bearded face as though held in place with a clasp on the back of his head. He had been the Fredbear to William's Springbonnie in every regard. He never had a mean thing to say about any of the customers, even the frustrating ones, and he was always kind to the kids: the customers' children as well as Mike and his siblings. He teased William in public once in a while, but nothing out of the ordinary for two people who spent as much time together as they did. And yet, even as a young child, Mike had never wanted to be alone in a room with Mr. Miller; he couldn't articulate it, but he sensed something cold and unaccounted for under the surface that he feared might come out once the doors were locked and the lights were off. It didn't surprise Mike to hear that Henry and his dad fought behind the scenes.

"Why would he be upset about that now?" asked Mike.

Elizabeth shrugged. "He was very worried about you and then Mr. Miller said mean things and maybe it was just too much."

"Wait," said Mike, trying to put it together. "He said the mean things after we got back from the lab?" Elizabeth nodded. "How?"

Elizabeth frowned at Mike like she didn't know why the concept was so hard for him to understand. "Mr. Miller is a ghost like Daddy and he lives in your house," she said. "Didn't you know that?"

Suddenly, William's other big secret crashed into focus; Henry had been in their house this whole time and it sounded like William had known but hadn't told. Michael thought back on all the times over the past few days when William's gaze had drifted to the ceiling or he had answered questions that no one had asked. Why hadn't he told Mike? Better yet, why hadn't William told Charlie that her father was still around? Was it revenge, neglect, or something more sinister? The puzzle pieces were fitting into place and the picture they were making was horrible. Mike looked down at his ruined hands and wondered if the reason William wanted to go to the lab had been part of a larger, darker plan he'd made with Henry; he wondered if it had ever been about closure at all.

"Is he here now?" Mike asked, looking up at Elizabeth.

"No," she answered, scanning the walls. "We haven't seen him since last night. We think he must be hiding because he's embarrassed about what he said to Daddy."

"What did he say?"

Elizabeth fidgeted with the hem of her dress. The mechanical cables made a hissing sound as they moved under the fabric. "We don't want to repeat it," she answered. "It wasn't very nice and there were swear words. We heard them from our bedroom."

"I see," said Mike. He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself but he just ended up coughing. Elizabeth stepped over to him and went to pat him on the back in case he was choking on something, but he put up a hand. "I'm okay," he said. The thought of Elizabeth's metal hand thumping him on the back sounded painful. "Let's go help Charlie with the laundry."

"What about Daddy?"

"We'll talk to him a little later, okay?" Mike smiled encouragingly, trying not to let her see how worried he was.

Elizabeth looked at the floor. "Okay." Mike held the door open for her and made sure she didn't fall when climbing the wooden stairs into the kitchen.

Charlie had already started the washing machine and was now in the kitchen making herself a microwaved quesadilla for dinner. Mike glanced at the clock on the wall; he supposed it was dinnertime. It struck him that, when Beth and Sammy returned, they and Charlie would be the only ones eating anymore. Mike missed family dinners already.

"Hi guys," Charlie greeted as she punched a minute into the microwave and pushed start. She put her hands in her hoodie pockets and leaned against the counter, looking casual in all but her expression. "How's William?"

Michael laughed awkwardly and sat in one of the kitchen chairs. "Not doing too hot," he replied. Charlie joined him at the table with her dinner. "Charlie, I've got to tell you something, but you need to promise you won't go after my father when I tell you."

"That's a hell—er, heck—of an opener." Mike and Charlie both looked up at Elizabeth who was standing and listening by the kitchen island, purple eyes shining with focus.

"Hey, Liz," he said, "Why don't you go play? I'll be along shortly."

Elizabeth didn't break her gaze, standing as still as a mannequin. "We can handle whatever you are going to talk about," she said. "We have seen and heard lots of very bad things."

"Yes, and you don't need to hear any more," said Mike. "You can go play in the back yard if you want, just so long as you stay in the yard."

Elizabeth's face lit up. "Really?" Mike nodded. She bounced in place. "Okay then," she agreed. "We will be waiting for you." She padded softly across the wood floor and to the back door. Mike didn't start talking until he heard the door shut.

Charlie crossed her arms on the table. "So, what's the news?" she asked. "What's wrong with William, besides the usual?"

Mike didn't know how to begin; there was no good way to break the news to Charlie that her dead father had been haunting their house since who knows when. Maybe the entire time they had been married; he might have been haunting her way before, maybe as far back as the summer of 1987, minutes after his death.

"Mike," She gave him a tired smile. "Nothing is going to surprise me anymore. What is it?"

Mike sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Elizabeth told me that your dad," he began and looked up at Charlie to gauge her reaction; she was still staring at him earnestly, listening. "He's been…" He searched for the right word. "haunting… our house. And my dad's been talking to him."

Charlie wasn't smiling anymore. "I don't—I don't understand. What do you mean he's been haunting our house?"

"Elizabeth said he's a ghost. Like Dad." Mike explained. Charlie ran her fingers through her hair in thought. "I don't know how long he's been here, and I haven't seen him myself, but he's been here at least since last night. Elizabeth said he and my dad were arguing."

"Of fucking course," Charlie muttered to herself. "Of course he's been keeping this from us. I bet it didn't even occur to him that I might like to know my father is hanging around."

"I know it's a lot," Mike said, reaching tentatively for her hands across the table. "What are you thinking?"

Charlie bowed her head and some of the strands of her hair swept across her plate. "I don't know," she said quietly. "What am I supposed to think? He's my dad, but he kidnapped and killed children. I can't decide whether I'm relieved or scared he's here. We never really had much of a relationship when I was growing up. He was always too busy with work and he didn't have much time for me or Sam." She sniffed and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I'm not pleased that he and your dad have been talking behind our backs, I can tell you that much."

"Believe me, neither am I," agreed Mike.

There was a crash from the backyard and Mike and Charlie both looked up to see what it was. Elizabeth was crouched in front of the door, picking the barbecue up from where it had toppled over.

"What do you want to do?" Mike asked, turning to Charlie again.

Charlie gently stroked Mike's hands with her thumbs, staring hard at the wounds. "We need to find out what's really going on," she said finally. "Why my dad's here, how long he's been here, what he wants…"

"And why my father didn't mention it?" added Mike.

Charlie shook her head. "I don't care why he didn't mention it. Whatever answer William gives is going to be a lie."

"He's trying," said Mike limply, but he didn't quite believe it himself. He wanted to, but he couldn't.

"No, he isn't," said Charlie. "If he was trying to be better, he wouldn't have taken you down to the lab. He wouldn't have kept my father from me. He wouldn't have done any of this."

Mike didn't know what to say, so he didn't respond. He just held Charlie's hands. Charlie cleared her throat.

"I don't want to deal with this right now," she said suddenly, standing up. "Elizabeth seems stable, and William can't hurt anyone with anything more than emotional manipulation now, so I'm going to go pick Beth and Sammy up from Jessica's."

Mike nodded solemnly. "Okay," he said.

"And, if you're feeling up to it," continued Charlie, "I'd like you to come with me." She crossed her arms awkwardly. "I'm uncomfortable leaving you alone with William. Even if he's a ghost."

Mike didn't fight her on it. He didn't think William could do anything else to him, but if it helped Charlie, he would come along. "I'm up to it," he said. "What about Elizabeth?"

Charlie stared at the back door, thinking. "We have room for her in the car," she said.

"What? Really?"

"Yeah." Charlie shrugged. "I don't think it's a good idea to leave her by herself at home just yet, but I'm sure as hell not leaving you here with William. Besides, she looks like a doll. As long as she doesn't move in public, it'll be fine." Mike moved to protest but she cut him off. "She'll sit up front with me, and you can sit with the kids in the back," she added. "We're going to have to tell them eventually, anyway. And before you say you don't want to sit in the back because you might scare the kids, even remnant-infused and missing some organs, you still don't look half bad."

Mike chuckled. "Charmer," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. That brought the smile back to Charlie's face, if just for a moment.

"We need to be extra careful from now on," Charlie said, as though worried Mike wasn't on board with her plan. "We can't afford any more surprises. Beth and Sammy need to know their home is stable and safe."

Mike nodded. "I agree," he said. "Though, maybe Liz and I should stay in the car when you meet Jessica?" Charlie said that was probably best. "Okay. I'll go get Elizabeth and let my dad know we're leaving if I can find him."

"If you can find him?"

"He hid when Elizabeth and I went in to talk to him," said Mike.

Charlie sighed, but she didn't comment. She set her empty plate in the sink. "I'll get my shoes on and meet you at the car."

"Okay."

Charlie disappeared upstairs and Mike walked painfully to the back door. Elizabeth was crouched in the yard, looking at something in the grass, perhaps an ant or some beetle. Mike walked onto the deck.

"Elizabeth?" he called. She looked up, her head twisting nearly backward to see him. "Charlie and I are going to get the kids. Do you want to come?"

Elizabeth jumped up. "Yes please!" she squealed, then stopped. "But what about Daddy?"

"I'll talk to him," said Mike as Elizabeth climbed the stairs. "And we won't be gone for very long."

Elizabeth glanced back at the yard as if looking for William. "Okay," she conceded, passing Mike on her way into the house.

Mike stepped further out onto the deck and put his hands on his hips, the first position besides just letting his arms hang limply that didn't hurt his chest. William had passed through the wall that would have led out into the yard. Since Mike hadn't seen him return to the house, he was probably still back there. Leaning heavily on the railing, Mike stepped down into the yard, and leaning even more heavily on the stairs, he crouched to check under the deck, looking for a hint of ghostly glow radiating from behind any of the beams. The shadows were completely empty, all the way from the green yard to the concrete foundation of the house. Mike supposed that William could be hiding under the house, but Mike wasn't about to go crawling under there in the mud on his knees and elbows.

"Dad?" he called under the deck. "Are you here?" He waited but there was no answer but the faint laughing of neighborhood children playing outside before dinnertime.

Mike struggled back to standing and looked around the yard again, searching for movement, glowing, or anything that would give his father away. There was nothing. He must be under the house then, thought Mike as he climbed back up the stairs. He was about to go inside when he spotted the hot tub. It seemed like an odd place to hide, but not completely impossible; William didn't need to breathe, after all. With slow steps, Mike walked over to the hot tub, and with a loud grunt to give his weak arms momentum, he heaved the padded lid of the hot tub open.

Inside the hot tub, completely submerged in the water, lay William, curled on his side at the bottom. When the light hit him, he opened his eyes and looked up at Mike, as though surprised he found him.

"Mike," he said, undistorted by the water. He acted like he wanted to say something else, but there wasn't anything to say. Mike thought of asking him what he was doing in there, but it was obvious, so he didn't. He pretended like he had walked in on his father doing something normal, as though he had just poked his head into his father's workshop to tell him that dinner was ready.

"Charlie, Elizabeth and I are going to get the kids," Mike said, jerking his thumb back at the house. "We'll be back in a couple of hours."

William stood up and walked through the wall of the hot tub. "I'll come," he said evenly, as though his face wasn't still dripping with tears. Michael put up his hands and stopped him.

"No, Dad, I think you should stay here," he said. When William frowned in disappointment, Michael lowered his eyes. "You said you wanted to be alone for a little bit, and I think that's a good idea."

William looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. "But Mike…" He let the thought trickle into nothing.

Mike scuffed his shoes on the deck. "Why didn't you tell Charlie her dad was here?" he asked. He hadn't wanted to get into this discussion right now, but he couldn't help himself. William recoiled, as though he had been struck. "Were you plotting with him?"

William reached for Mike, but then thought better of it and let his hands hang. "I-I didn't want to worry you," he said quietly. "You two have so much on your plate already."

"Bullshit, Dad," said Mike. He took a deep breath to keep the angry shake out of his voice. "Elizabeth heard you arguing with Henry and now you've been sulking like crazy. Something happened and I'd bet anything that it has to do with our trip to the lab." William stared on, heartbroken, but he didn't contradict him. "I want to believe you, but every time I give you the benefit of the doubt, I end up paying for it." William's eyes trailed down to Mike's sweatshirt where some of the inner fabric had caught on his stitches. Mike smoothed it down. "We're not going to throw you out," Mike said softly. "That's not what this is about. And I'm grateful for what you did for me in the lab, but you can't keep things from us anymore, okay? It's not safe for you, it's not safe for me, and it's not safe for the family. Keeping Henry a secret from Charlie really hurt her. Do you understand?"

"Yes," William stared at the ground. "I understand."

"Good."

William wrung his hands. "Michael," he said, "do you love me?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Well do you?" He stared at him desperately, like it was the most important question in the world.

Mike sighed. "Of course I love you, Dad," he said, "but I can't trust you anymore. Every time I start to trust you, I find out you're lying."

"Mike…"

Mike stepped back out of reach. "No, Dad, save it," he said. He felt terrible for upsetting his father, but he couldn't sacrifice his family for William any longer. Eventually, there had to be a limit, and that limit had been passed a long time ago. "I'm going to go with Charlie to pick up the kids, and we'll talk about this later, okay? We can talk about this later." Without waiting for a response, Mike turned around and went back into the house. He thought he heard William say "Okay," very quietly before he closed the door.

William didn't follow him into the house; he didn't follow him to the car. And when they pulled out of the driveway, William wasn't watching from the window.

* * *

A/N: Elizabeth: When we go pick up Beth and Sammy, can we please drive-through for ice cream?

Michael: You don't eat anymore, and neither do I.

Elizabeth: I want to bring some back for Daddy.

Michael: He can't eat it anymore, either.


	13. A Field Trip

A/N: Content Warning: Talk of violence against children.

William does some self-reflection and gets some unexpected help.

* * *

"Of course I love you, Dad, but I can't trust you anymore. Every time I start to trust you, I find out you're lying."

Mike's words spun in William's head like angry wasps scraping through him with wax-papery wings, searching for something to sting. They couldn't break his heart, since that crusty old chamber had already been crushed but maybe they could sting the pile of particles. Mike had confirmed that he loved him, and yet he said he couldn't trust him. William was pretty confident that love couldn't exist without trust, so either Mike was lying about not trusting him or he was lying about loving him.

William sat against the hot tub and put his face in his hands to block out the sunset. There were so many wasps, so many sets of papery wings crowded inside him from his head to his feet, that there was no room for him to breathe. His lungs were full of Mike's words, full of his kind lies; his son didn't love him. William had made a gamble when he let go of Henry, betting that he could get his family to love him, but he had chosen poorly. And now Henry was gone and William was stuck with his mistake.

"Isn't this enough punishment already?" William asked whoever was in charge of the afterlife. "I'm sorry, all right? Can I please die now?" There was no answer except the continual replaying of Mike's words. I love you but I can't trust you. You're lying. I can't trust you, you're lying. I'd love you, but you're lying. William wasn't lying, at least he didn't think he was. At the end of the day, he was just a damned stupid rabbit who should have known better. He knew he couldn't be forgiven, but didn't he get to move on at some point like Henry? Why did Henry get to go and he was still stuck here? They had committed the same crime! Was it because he was the one who had physically done the killing after he and Henry had extracted all the remnant they could?

"Is it because I enjoyed it?" he shouted at the sky. "Fine, I enjoyed it! Is that what you want me to say? I'm a fucking monster and I liked tearing those damn kids apart!" The sky was soft hues of pink and orange. No thunderheads developed and no lightning came to smite him. No portals to Hell or the afterlife or anything opened up. In fact, it didn't seem like anyone had heard him at all. He had always known that he didn't deserve to live with his family and now it seemed that his family had realized it as well.

There was a quiet knock on the backyard fence. "Um, excuse me?" came a timid voice. "Sir, are you all right?"

William sat up and wiped his nose. "Who's asking?" he said curtly.

"Well, Jack," answered the voice. "But you don't know me. I was just walking by and you sounded like you were in distress."

"I _am_ in distress," answered William. "Now, go away."

"Maybe I can help," Jack continued.

William wondered how Jack could hear him. He descended the deck stairs and approached the tall wooden fence. The boards were screwed tightly together and he could only see the vaguest impression of someone standing on the other side. "Are you a ghost?" he asked

Jack didn't answer right away. "No," he said uncertainly. "Are you?"

William was done caring about what people thought of him. He had lost the good opinion of his family and of Henry, and they were the only ones he had ever wanted to impress. With one large step, he passed through the fence and onto the sidewalk. There was a youngish man hunched over with his eye pressed to one of the tiny gaps between the fence boards. He was wearing a black short-sleeve button-up shirt with an embroidered pocket, black slacks, and black dress shoes that were professional but still soft enough to stand in all day. His hair was flaming orange and it frizzed out where it had come loose from being gelled back; it was the brightest red hair William had ever seen.

Jack caught sight of William out of the corner of his eye and jumped back, pressing a hand to his heart. "Oh god, you really are a spirit," he said. "I didn't expect that."

William frowned and wiped his eyes discretely to make sure he wasn't crying in front of this stranger. "How can you see me? Are you undead?"

Jack straightened his clip-on bowtie. "No," he answered. "I'm alive. I can just see you guys sometimes, like a sixth sense. I almost died when I was in elementary school and I think that might have caused it."

"How?"

"I don't know," Jack shrugged. "It isn't an exact science."

"It sure isn't." William crossed his arms and looked out at the rest of the neighborhood. "No matter how many experiments you do."

"Were you some kind of scientist?" Jack asked.

"No, my friend was the scientist. I was just a violent idiot," William replied. He glanced at Jack to gauge his reaction but Jack's expression was unreadable. "So are you going to scram now, or…" He let the sentence trail off into silence. Jack was staring him in the eye, looking more concerned than shocked. "Well," said William, "I've got to go." He turned to pass back through the fence and into the yard when Jack stopped him.

"I heard some of what you were saying earlier. It sounds like you're having trouble moving on."

William stayed with his back turned to Jack. He clenched his fists at his sides and fought the urge to punch the guy.

"Sorry," said Jack again. "it's just that spirits don't usually have many people to talk to and it's really common to get stuck on earth without knowing why."

"I know plenty well why I'm stuck here," said William, turning around. "And I know that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Besides, I have a family, so I don't really care." His voice caught on the last part and he hoped Jack didn't notice.

Jack smiled compassionately. "I'm glad to hear that. Many family members are scared of their dead relatives and it can get lonely for the spirits. I just thought maybe you could use an outsider to talk to." William stared long at him but he didn't answer, even when Jack waited. "But my mistake. Sorry for bothering you. I walk this way home from work most evenings if you ever do want to talk." He turned and started walking down the sidewalk.

William watched him go, his hands squeezing frantically at the tattered bloody fabric of his dress pants. He should go back into the house and wait for Mike to come home, so they could talk about William's latest betrayal. But part of him thought that, if he could just have a conversation with someone who wasn't connected with Freddy's, someone he hadn't hurt yet, maybe he could start to move past being William Afton, restaurant owner and child killer, and become Grandpa Will, someone Mike and Charlie felt comfortable letting around their children. Jack made it to the crosswalk.

"Wait!" William called down the street. He didn't know how far he could get from the animatronic eye without breaking his spiritual attachment, so he stayed put. "I keep accidentally hurting my family," he admitted. "Can you help me stop?" When Jack walked back up the sidewalk, William put his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't be able to see him fidgeting.

"Why do you hurt them?" asked Jack.

William shrugged. "I don't do it on purpose," he said. "It just happens."

"Did the murders just happen too?" Jack asked. William glared at him. "Sorry, that came out harsh. You mentioned you killed children. Tore them apart, you said. Are you okay talking about that?"

"No," said William. "Not ever."

"Okay."

"The m-murders have nothing to do with the mistakes I've made with my family," said William. He knew that wasn't strictly true, but they didn't have much to do with his family outside of leading to the creation of the dangerous robots that killed—or nearly killed—all of his children. But it wasn't as though William, himself, had chased his children with a knife. "The kids I…well, they've already moved on. It's all in the past. It's my current relationship with my family that I want your help fixing."

"Fair enough," said Jack. He looked back down the street. "Do you want to grab a coffee with me? There's a twenty-four-hour coffee shop a couple blocks from here."

"I don't drink anymore," William replied and realized then how true that was. Oh, what he'd do for a strong Irish whiskey. "And," he continued, "I'm attached to something in this house, so I can't exactly leave."

"Can I let you in on a secret?" asked Jack. William sighed in internal exasperation and nodded. Jack looked around as though he was making sure no one around was listening. "Attachment is all in your head," he said. "It doesn't exist."

William tried to smile wryly, but it just came out looking sad. It turned out that Jack was full of shit after all; William had known it all along but he had secretly hoped that Jack would prove him wrong. "It's real," he said. "Trust me."

Jack put his hands up in surrender. "You'd know better than me. But you still might be surprised how far away from the house you're able to get."

"Maybe," said William. "I doubt it extends further than a few feet, though."

"Just try it with me, okay?" Jack smiled at him and his smile was as bright as his hair. "One step at a time?"

"One step at a time," William sighed.

They walked together to the end of Mike and Charlie's fence and stopped. Jack took one large step past the fence and then turned to look at William. William extended his leg carefully, slowly past the boundary, making sure to keep most of his weight still in line with the fence, just in case he started unraveling. Nothing happened so far, so he set his foot down and leaned forward. He checked how he felt over and over again, searching for any sign that his ghostly form was breaking apart as it had in the lab, but he was still stable. Finally, he lifted his left foot to meet his right and, suddenly, he was a foot beyond the boundary of the Schmidt property.

Jack clapped approvingly, grinning wide, showing the big gap between his front teeth, and William couldn't help but smile back.

"You did great," said Jack. "How do you feel? No spiritual fuzziness?"

William looked down at himself, but he was still the same level of transparent solid as before. "No fuzziness," he said.

"Ready for another step?"

William looked nervously back at the house, then up ahead at the end of the block. It wasn't all that far away and he was confident that if he took it slow, he'd be able to reach it. If he started fading, he could always return to the backyard.

"I'm ready," he said and he meant it.

"Okay," said Jack, lifting his foot. "Here goes step number two."

The second step was easier than the first. With a careful lift and extension of his leg, William was transported even further from home without any soul-tearing side-effects. At Jack's leading, William took a third step and then a fourth, on and on until they stood together at the crosswalk.

"You're doing great," said Jack. "Still holding it together?"

William said he thought he was and they crossed the road. William looked back at the house, now a colorful block in a wall of fenced houses, lined up like terrariums in a pet store. Jack put an arm out to stop William from stepping in front of a cyclist and then they were off to the next crosswalk. In no time, they were standing in front of a coffee shop with air plants hanging in the windows and people in collared shirts sipping from white coffee cups at tables visible from the street.

William hadn't been out in public since the eighties and he hadn't gone to a coffee shop to just drink and chat since he was in university. He remembered he had met his ex-wife, Annabelle, at a coffee shop once when they were working on the same senior group project. Back then, it wasn't proper to still be unmarried at twenty-two, so they married right after graduation. It hadn't been a bad marriage, thought William, and they had been happy for a while; it had certainly been more functional than his parents' short-lived union. But Annie needed more from William than he was willing to give and there were things Annie could never give William; neither of them realized this until it was too late.

The door jingled when Jack opened it for William. With a glance to make sure it really was all right, William stepped into the shop. Light jazz played over speakers mounted near the ceiling and there was the din and closeness of bodies huddled inside for warmth and companionship; even though no one but Jack could see him, William found himself drifting towards the solitary dark corner near the counter to get away from the commotion.

Jack ordered two coffees and sat at the far end of the coffee bar where William was hunched. "A little overwhelming?" he asked. William nodded. "We can sit outside if you'd like."

"I'll get used to it," said William, not moving from his corner. He eyed the two cups. "I told you I can't drink."

"I know," said Jack as he poured a sugar packet into his and stirred it. "But it's always nicer to talk with a warm drink in your hands."

With a glance a the barista to make sure she truly didn't see him, William peeled himself off of the wall and settled into the seat beside Jack. "Won't you look crazy, talking to nobody?"

"Everyone around here already thinks I'm crazy," Jack replied simply as he took a sip. Jack didn't look it but William supposed everyone had their own problems.

William wrapped his hands around the coffee cup and stared into the steaming black liquid. He couldn't smell it or feel the heat of it, but he remembered what it was supposed to feel and smell like and his brain did its best to fill in the blanks. He could almost feel the nutty bitterness in his nostrils and the heat on his fingertips.

"So tell me a little about your family," Jack began. "What are they like?"

"They're brilliant," William said, a smile tugging at his lips. "The nicest people I've ever met. Even Charlie."

"Who's Charlie?"

William gave Jack a brief rundown of his family, leaving out great chunks of information that he didn't care to relive. He told Jack how he had been a dead body in an animatronic suit—there was no reason to keep that fact hidden—and how Mike had found him in an old warehouse and taken him home. He told how he had continued to mess things up by being too eager and keeping too many secrets, but he didn't tell him about the lab or Henry. Jack didn't need to know about all that; all he had to know was that, despite William's best efforts, he had hurt his family every day he had lived with them.

"It sounds like you have a pretty good relationship with them, deep down," said Jack. "But if you are still hurting them as badly and as frequently as you say, it's gotta be coming from somewhere." William shrugged noncommittally. Jack continued, "You said the…murders," he whispered the word, "are all in the past. But I think Charlie's right about bad stuff continually coming back up if it isn't sorted through." William turned away but Jack didn't stop. "It's like scar tissue crammed tight down inside. It all needs to be scraped out so the bones and ligaments can heal correctly. Otherwise, they're just going to stay stiff and injured, you know?"

William stirred the coffee with his finger, tracing ripples. "What would you suggest I do?" he asked quietly. "Aside from my family, everyone I knew when I was alive is gone. There's no one left to forgive me."

"I don't think it's forgiveness you need," said Jack. "At least, not from them." He paused as one of the baristas squeezed behind their table with an industrial size bag of coffee.

William leaned in closer privately, even though no one but Jack could hear him. "Please don't tell me to forgive myself."

"Would that be so bad?" asked Jack.

William picked a thread loose from one of the many springlock holes in his favorite purple shirt. "It's impossible," he replied. "You might as well ask me to bring the kids back from the dead." Murderers didn't get to forgive themselves and William felt like trying to forgive himself for something so heinous was probably a heinous act, in and of itself. What kind of psychopath forgives themselves for killing children?

"Maybe forgiveness is too big a pill to swallow for now," admitted Jack. "What about acceptance? Accepting that it all happened and that you had a hand in it."

William stared out the window at a father zipping up his little daughter's coat. "I've already accepted it. It's not something I can pretend didn't happen."

Jack hesitated and ran his thumb along the smooth porcelain coffee mug. "I don't get the feeling you have accepted it." William glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "You told me the murders have no bearing on your current relationship with your family. And not only do you not want to talk about it, but you've convinced yourself that you can't talk about it."

William scoffed. "I can talk about the, um, what happened."

"Prove it to me." Jack's eyebrows knit together seriously. His words had turned hard, but there was no mean-spiritedness behind them that William could sense. Jack believed he was on to something and even though slightly irritating, he was doing this purely for William's benefit. He was nothing at all like Henry, and not just because of the hair.

"I want you to say it out loud," said Jack. "Say, 'I murdered children.'"

William stared at him, bewildered. "I'm not going to say that."

"No one can hear you except me," said Jack. "And I already know."

"If you know, why do I have to say it?"

"'I murdered children,'" Jack prodded. "Come on."

William glanced around at the people sitting at other tables. "You're going to get yourself arrested," he muttered.

"Come on, 'I murdered children.'"

William sighed. "Fine. I…I-I murdered…" He clenched his hands in his lap. "I murdered ch-ch-children." His nonexistent heart pumped a mile a minute and he was lightheaded from the adrenaline. It felt wrong to talk about, even though it was true.

"Again."

"You're joking," William said.

"Try to say it all in one breath," said Jack. He moved his hand in a smooth motion across the wood table. "'I murdered children.'"

William smoothed his hair back with a jittery hand. His face was burning hot. "I…m-murdered…ch-children."

Jack smiled. "Much better. Don't you feel better?"

William covered his face with his hands. He still felt hollow from Henry's departure and now he felt like whatever was left behind had been pureed in a blender. "I feel sick," he said.

"That's a start," said Jack. "That's good. You're being honest. Admitting you murdered children makes you feel sick. Why?"

"B-because it's hor-horrible and I'm… No one should have it in them to h-hurt a child, but I did. I m-murdered them like it was nothing." William wiped his eyes. "And I have the audacity to call myself a father."

He buried his face in his arms on the table and shook, waiting for the tears to stop. Jack didn't scold him for getting emotional or tell him to stop feeling sorry for himself. He just watched and waited, a comforting hand resting in view on the table. After a while, William got hold of himself, sat up and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to do that."

"You don't have to apologize," said Jack with an encouraging smile. "I think it's good. Nothing's more honest than tears."

"Well," William wiped his eyes. "I must be the most honest man on earth because I cry a hell of a lot."

Jack laughed and it startled William. A couple of the other patrons glanced at him as well. William was offended at first, thinking that Jack was making fun of him, but then he realized that he had meant it to be a joke and it warmed his heart that Jack had responded favorably. Something small ignited in his chest and he chuckled at himself, wiping the last of the tears away.

"What's next, Doctor Jack?" asked William.

Jack noticed his hair had come loose from the gel and worked at pressing it back in. "How about some homework?" he asked. "Are you okay with that?"

The smile dropped from William's face. He had hoped that he and Jack would work through his trauma secretly so Mike, Charlie, Elizabeth, and the grandkids never had to know about it. "I don't know…"

"Don't worry, it's nothing extreme."

William hesitated. "What did you have in mind?"

"Do you and your son talk much?" Jack asked.

"All the time," said William a little too quickly.

"Have you ever told him what you're struggling with? The murders and how you feel about them?"

William stared at his cooling coffee. "He wants to move past it, so I try not to bring it up."

Jack nodded, processing. "Don't you think he'd like to know what you're feeling?" William shook his head. "Why not?"

"Because I'm never feeling the right thing," William replied. "And that upsets him."

"Do you know it upsets him or do you just think it upsets him?"

William didn't reply. The look Mike gave him when he found out about Henry was seared into his brain. Anything William said would just make it worse but not saying anything was just as bad.

"I have an idea that I think will help," said Jack. "What if, every morning, you tell Michael what you're feeling? It doesn't have to be long and you don't have to explain yourself, it just has to be honest. Whether you're feeling sad or stressed or you feel like killing someone, just tell him. Say, 'I feel stressed this morning,' or 'I am having violent thoughts, but I choose not to act on them.' Whatever feels right. And Michael doesn't have to do anything except listen. The key is to get in the habit of accepting your feelings and expressing them to someone else. Do you think you can do that?"

William sighed. "You make it sound so easy," he said. "but this will definitely stress him out."

Jack leaned in closer. "I'm sure he's more stressed not knowing what you're thinking," he said. "Especially given your past."

William wrung his hands on the table in front of him. He looked out the window at the now dark street, at the street lights illuminating pedestrians walking by, bundled in warm coats. "I'll give it a try," he agreed finally, "if you think it will help."

Jack smiled encouragingly. "Thanks. Do you want to practice on me?"

William stared at Jack, still having a hard time believing any of this was real. He felt like, any minute now, Henry was going to walk through the coffee shop door and rescue him from this awkward situation and then William would know this was a dream. But Henry didn't come in and Jack didn't fade away. He stayed sitting beside William, watching him with compassion as though he believed that William had been damaged by the murders as well; William had been damaged, though he didn't believe it was appropriate to admit it, given that the murders were his fault. But Jack seemed to understand anyway and he looked at him like he believed William was a perpetrator and a victim at the same time, and neither meant he was beyond help.

"I don't know what I'm feeling," said William. "I guess I'm not feeling anything right now."

"Take your time," said Jack kindly. "I know you're feeling something. You just have to let it tell you what it is."

"If you say so," said William.

He stared at his coffee and felt inward for his emotions. Funny, he thought, how he could mourn all day for Henry but when asked, he couldn't explain how he felt. Henry never asked how he felt and neither had anyone else. It wasn't the kind of question his kids would have asked when they were younger and now after finding him trapped at Fazbear's, trapped in his old suit, it was obvious how he felt, so they still didn't talk about it. William never asked his children how they felt either, he realized. His goal had always been to make them happy when they were sad, so it didn't matter why they were sad as long as William could erase it. He had always done the same with himself, as well; it might not have been the best approach.

"I feel…scared," William admitted. "I feel a lot of other things, too, but that's the loudest one, I guess."

Jack nodded in approval as though he was William's piano teacher and William had finally played through a difficult song. "Thank you for telling me," he said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no."

"Okay."

They talked casually for a while. Jack chatted about his day at work, what it was like to be a host at a restaurant, and the kinds of people he got to interact with. William shared that he used to work in a restaurant as well, though he didn't mention it was Freddy's, even though he was sure Jack already suspected. He talked about how he used to wear the animal mascot suit from time to time, and how that was his favorite part of the day: seeing the kids' faces light up. Jack didn't theorize about the murders or pry into how William went from making kids happy in a rabbit suit to killing them. Ironically, it was his lack of prying that made William want to open up.

William told him a little more about what and how it had happened. Jack listened respectfully, asking clarifying questions every once in a while. He mentioned the lab briefly—just that he and his friend did experiments—but he didn't say anything more about Henry. Henry had escaped his purgatory and it seemed wrong to drag him back in, even just by talking about him.

When he had said all he wanted to, they sat together in companionable silence. Jack sipped his cold coffee and William stirred his with his finger, causing ripples to form.

"No wonder you're dealing with trauma. That's a lot," said Jack. "Thanks for opening up to me. I know it must have been difficult."

"Yeah, well," William stared at his coffee. "Thank you for listening."

He waited for Jack to change his mind, to shame him or tell him to leave, but he didn't. Instead, Jack ordered them two new coffees and they sat and chatted until they were the only two people left in the cafe. Jack was starting to yawn and William realized how late it was.

"I should probably let you get some shuteye," said William.

Jack laughed, realizing that he had been yawning. "Yeah, I should get some sleep. I have to work bright and early again tomorrow."

Jack bussed their table and walked William home. When they arrived at the edge of the Schmidt fence, Jack got ready to leave and William knew he had to say something.

"I'd like to talk with you again." The words came out like an explosion and he checked himself. "I-if that's okay. If not, I understand…"

Jack smiled. "I'm free tomorrow evening," he said. William's shoulders relaxed. "Meet you at the coffee shop at seven. Are you comfortable walking there by yourself?"

"I'll manage." William couldn't get the stupid grin off his face. "I-If I'm late, it's because I got stuck on the fence," he added.

"I'll come by if that happens."

"All right," William agreed.

"Are you going to talk to your son tomorrow morning?" Jack asked.

"I'm going to talk to him tonight," William replied.

"I'm proud of you," said Jack. He swayed a little, hands in pockets, thinking of something to say. "Is it okay if I give you a hug? Are you a hugger?"

Something broke in William's chest, like a chain giving out after years of rust. When it broke, his body flushed with an ache for physical touch that was as strong and all-encompassing as starvation. He wanted to tell Jack that he was a hugger and a hand-holder and a hair-player-wither and a kisser and a cuddler, and that his love language was every kind of touch, but the words bottlenecked and all he could get out was: "Yes."

Jack gave him a long, warm hug. Even though William wasn't solid and the hug was more or less pretend, it felt wonderful and reminded him how little of this kind of contact he had gotten since he died. In the beginning, when he awoke in the suit, he had felt unbearably lonely and touch-starved, but as the years passed and those needs remained unmet, his brain did its best to curb the hunger pains. However, now that he was starting to get more physical contact, not only from Jack but from Michael and Elizabeth as well, the pangs were getting sharper, reminding him how much more he still needed.

"See you tomorrow," said Jack, waving as he walked up the street toward the bus stop.

William waved back. "See you tomorrow."

He passed through the fence into the dark backyard. The lights were on in the house and William caught a glimpse of Sammy through his bedroom window. The deck light was on and, sitting in one of the deck chairs, was Michael. The outdoor lighting exaggerated his hollow cheeks and the bags under his eyes. He sagged in his chair looking small in his heavy sweatshirt, with both feet planted firmly on the deck. He had been gazing out at the large tree by their fence but when William entered the backyard, Mike's eyes locked onto him.

"Dad?" Mike stood up in surprise. "Where have you been?"

William was about to say: "Nowhere," but stopped himself. He needed to be honest with his family from now on. Lies and omitting information was what had gotten them into trouble in the first place. "I-I met someone who is helping me, um, get better and…um…come to terms with what I did. Sorry if I made you worry."

Mike carefully descended the stairs. The way he walked was slow and artificial, as though he didn't trust his muscles to do their job so he depended on his body's balance and momentum to stay standing.

"You met someone who could see you?" Mike asked quietly.

William nodded. "He's a psychic of some sort. He can see spirits." He told Mike how Jack had heard him as he was walking by and they had gotten to talking. Mike had a pained look as he listened, but slowly the stress lines on his face softened. "He's going to help me work through the things that keep hurting you, Charlie, and the kids," William said, picking his fingers nervously. "I-I'm going to do it this time and I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to take it seriously."

"He sounds like a good guy," said Mike. "I know you can do it. Sorry Charlie and I have been so hard on you lately."

"No, I deserved it," said William. "But I'm not going to hurt any of you anymore. I promise. And no more secrets."

Mike smiled. "Thanks, Dad." He hugged him and William felt a lump form in his throat.

Tears were closer to the surface than usual these days. He had always thought that was a bad thing, but like Jack said, emotions were honest. William had let Henry go because he knew that he would never be able to devote himself to his family if Henry was still around, pulling him in the opposite direction. Now that Henry had moved on, the only forces at war were between who William used to be and who he wanted to become. Everyone in his life wanted him to succeed; a novelty, perhaps even a miracle. He couldn't allow this chance to pass him by because something told him he wasn't going to get another.

"Jack and I decided that I should tell you what I'm feeling every day to practice opening up," said William. "Is that okay?"

"I like that idea," replied Mike.

"Can I tell you how I'm feeling right now?"

"Sure, Dad, how are you feeling?"

"I feel great," William replied, grinning. "Really great, through and through. I know I can succeed this time." Michael was smiling back at him, but he didn't look well. He stood hunched at an odd angle as though it was the only angle that didn't hurt. The grin slipped off of William's face. "Are you feeling all right?" he asked.

Mike rolled his shoulders to counteract the stiffness that was setting in. "Everyone's back home and things are looking up," he replied. "How could I not be?"

William knew he should pry a bit more to find out whether Mike was in pain, but he didn't want to ruin the mood. Instead, he said, "That's good to hear," and left it at that.

Beth and Sammy had gone to bed already, but Elizabeth, Charlie, and Mike had planned on watching a movie together. William sat on the couch beside Elizabeth as Mike and Charlie popped the popcorn. Elizabeth was unusually quiet tonight, choosing to watch the paused opening credits instead of looking at William.

"Thank you for sitting with me, Lizzie," said William. "You know, last night. It meant a lot."

"Where were you?" Elizabeth asked quietly. "Beth and Sammy were very worried that something had happened to you."

"I'm sorry," said William. "I won't sneak off like that again, I promise."

Elizabeth made a sound and continued staring at the screen. It warmed William's heart to hear that his grandchildren were worried about him, but it upset him to think of them being upset. He needed to find some way to interact with them, to show them that he was still there, still their grandpa.

Mike and Charlie came into the living room with two small bowls of popcorn. Mike handed one bowl to Elizabeth, reminded her not to eat it, and then sat down with Charlie on the couch with the other. As Mike started the movie, William watched Charlie. She didn't speak to him or ask Mike if he was there. She was staring at the TV intently as though there was nothing else in the room to see. Mike had his arm wrapped around her shoulder and she leaned her head carefully against his chest, but her eyes remained on the screen.

"Mike," said William, "could you please tell Charlie I'm sorry about Henry?"

Mike stared at William and for a moment William thought he wasn't going to relay the message. But eventually, he said, "Okay, Dad," and leaned down and whispered into Charlie's ear.

Charlie whipped around and glared at the spot on the couch where she thought William was sitting, but she didn't say anything, whether because she had nothing to say or she didn't want to make a scene in front of Elizabeth. Whatever the reason, she snuggled in closer to Mike and went back to watching the movie. William stared at his hands and clenched them on his knees. He'd make this work eventually, he promised himself, because he had to. Elizabeth lay one of her cloth hands over his and held it. William closed his fingers around hers gratefully.

William wasn't all that interested in the movie; it was some period piece about a school teacher. He was more interested in watching his family enjoying it. He could be Grandpa Will. With Jack's help, he had already made so much progress that day, and tomorrow, he would make even more progress. In another couple of weeks, maybe a month, if he kept up this progression, he was confident that everything bad he had done could be overwritten. All the really bad stuff had been over with years ago anyway and the stuff that was hurting his family in the present was just echoes of that. He would conquer those echoes the same way he had conquered his attachment: one step at a time.

Suddenly, something burned in his ears and oozed into his ribcage like magma, making him jump to attention. He didn't know what had caused the sensation at first, but then he realized it had been a sound that had come from the movie: a child, giggling, running through a cornfield.

Something about that giggling reached weird corners of his mind and set them on fire. He found his limbs twitching, his hands clenching so hard on his knees that they began to ache. He thought of the knife block in the kitchen, he thought of the tomato he asked Mike to cut. He thought of taking one of those knives and repeatedly plunging it into the TV screen because it was the closest he could get to doing the same thing to that child in the cornfield.

These fantasies rushed through his mind and he clenched harder, determined not to act on them. The mania surprised and frightened him as did the rush of power he felt from it. He hadn't felt like this in years and he was supposed to be over this—he _needed_ to be over this!—yet he found himself watching the child's every move until the scene changed, thankful for once that he was incorporeal.

* * *

A/N:

"Jack said I need to tell you every morning what I'm feeling."

"Okay."

"And I need to spend more time with my grandkids."

"We can arrange that."

"And I need to sleep upstairs in your room and Charlie can take my place in the garage."

"What?"

"I'm trying to get better, Michael. Those are the rules. Plus she's mean to me."


	14. Layers

A/N: Content Warning: Child death/child near-death. William takes an unpleasant walk down memory lane. There's also a bit of suit gore and creepy images.

Thank you so much everyone for the kind reviews! Dinosaur, I'm glad you like Jack. I like Jack, too. And the two guests, I'm glad you guys are enjoying reading about the misadventures of these chuckleheads.

* * *

William's violent fantasies didn't last the whole movie, but once the urge to destroy the child passed, its after images rippled through his mind. The urge had been so strong that it had rocketed him back to the time before his death, the time of the murders, when he, with Henry's blessing, didn't fight it. He had been both happy and miserable at the same time, as though he had found the perfect medication cocktail for his pain that allowed him to feel both numb and alive.

"Evil's gotta go somewhere," he remembered hearing in some B-horror movie when he was alive. He liked it and had made it his mantra, repeating it to himself whenever he started to feel bad. If he didn't choose a direction for his destructive energy and let it build until he couldn't control it, he might end up taking it out on his children or Henry, and that was out of the question. He and Henry had needed children anyway for their experiments, so it seemed like the best option at the time. Through their experiments, William could release the building pressure inside him and then return home a calm, collected, and good father. He thought doing it that way protected his children from the harmful parts of himself, but he was wrong. He could no longer release pressure the way he used to: he physically couldn't, even if he wanted to, which he didn't.

He was done with violence, but violence wasn't done with him. William pondered this as he sat alone on the couch while Charlie helped Mike up the stairs and Elizabeth went into her room to dress for bed. Since the Raggedy Ann doll's dress was removable, Beth had given Elizabeth a set of pajamas to wear at night. Elizabeth was delighted and as soon as the movie ended, she rushed to her room to put them on. The routine was good for her.

Charlie left a table lamp on for William, but the living room still felt dark and lonely with just him. Afraid to move, William squeezed his knees and breathed deeply as he listened to the faucet running upstairs. He knew he should tell Mike about the effect the child in the movie had had on him but he was afraid that, if he did, Mike might decide he was too dangerous and wouldn't let him visit his grandchildren anymore. William decided to wait out the night, see if he could calm himself down, and if his brain was still burning in the morning, he'd tell Mike.

He pulled his legs up onto the sofa and listened to the house go quiet around him. He thought about going in to see Elizabeth again that night to read some more comic books together, but since she hadn't invited him, he thought that maybe she wanted a little time to herself. He didn't want to make her feel like she was obligated to spend time with him every night just because they were both awake. William stared up at the ceiling and tried to find shapes in the popcorn spackling. The shadows pooled unevenly across the surface, distorted by the moonlight leaking in from outside and catching on the light fixtures. He found himself searching the walls and ceiling for any sign of pinkish light, like searching for sun behind the clouds, but everything was blue-gray. William wondered what Henry would have thought about his reaction to the cornfield child, but deep down he already knew the answer; he would have shamed him for it.

As he stared into the darkness beyond the light from the table lamp, William thought he saw movement: nothing large or solid like a body, just snippets of something small ducking behind the couch, diving behind the bookshelf, darting into the kitchen. The child's laugh breathed in his ears, broken and flickering. Grabbing handfuls of his hair for something to hold onto, William folded his head low between his knees and tried to block it out. His mind was drawn back to Fazbear's Fright, when he wandered down the halls, his rotting body fused with the suit, chasing the spinning echoes of children's laughter that drove him closer to insanity every night. Back then, he hadn't known if he was searching for the child to kill them or whether he just wanted company; he figured he would decide when he found them, which he never did because they didn't exist. It was just a recording played over a loudspeaker, a precaution taken by a night guard to keep a robotic beast away from the office. And William always fell for it. Even when he realized the laugh was just a recording, the burning in his head and chest wouldn't let him ignore it, and whether it was because some leftover programming from Springbonnie had leeched into him like a mind-altering chemical or he was just so bored that he'd accept any source of distraction, he followed the voice every time.

William felt the urge growing in him like a seed that had finally been watered after a long, dry summer. He felt it spreading slowly through him like ivy and, even though he was no longer in the suit or Fazbear's Fright, he found himself thinking of unhinging his metal jaw and taking a bite out of the laughing child when he caught them.

I'm losing it, he worried. I'm finally, completely losing my grip.

Beth and Sammy's voices hadn't triggered this reaction in him, so why now? He felt cables in his head buzzing and sprockets in his chest clicking with his movements. He felt the weight of his head hanging on his crusty bone-and-springlock neck and long heavy ears drooping to the floor. I'm Grandpa Will, he told himself, not Springtrap. Springtrap's in a box in the garage. He repeated it with each manufactured breath. Inhale Grandpa Will, exhale Springtrap. Again and again until the burning cooled and the vines stopped growing, until the clicking and electrical sparks stopped, until his moldy animatronic ears receded back into hair, until the laughter faded to nothing. He slowly loosened his grip, making sure he was truly all right, he looked at his hands to make sure they were still human, and unfolded himself. He felt like the episode had finished for now, whatever it had been. Maybe he'd go spend time with Elizabeth after all to make the night pass more quickly and then tomorrow evening he would talk to Jack about what had happened.

"Hello?"

William jumped to his feet. Over by the foot of the stairs stood the cornfield child. He was staring straight through William, grinning like a scarecrow. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, his curly blonde hair swayed in an unseen breeze, and the cuffs of his trousers were dark with mud. The fire burst to life again. He tried to speak but he found his throat had rotted out. Whether it was literal or not, William didn't have time to deal with it.

Laughing, the child dashed up the stairs and William knew in the pit of his stomach that he was headed for one of the kids' rooms and that he intended to hurt them. William sprinted after the child and made it upstairs just in time to see him disappear through Beth's bedroom door. William followed him without a second thought and readied himself for a fight.

Beth's room had a small purple nightlight glowing in the corner by the window. The floor was strewn with clothes and half-finished projects; kneeling over Beth on the bed like a sleep-paralysis demon, was the child. William gestured sternly for him to get off and leave immediately but he ignored him. Only when William stomped toward the bed did the child hop off with a shiver-inducing laugh and disappear through the wall. William paused to make sure Beth hadn't been harmed before following the child into Sammy's room. William entered through Sammy's closet, causing a loud pop as the wood door bowed against the pressure and snapped back into shape.

Sammy, who had been sleeping snuggly hugging a stuffed rabbit, jolted awake and looked up at the closet. His big blue eyes locked onto William and he screamed. The scream drowned out the laughter and the cornfield child disappeared. It froze the flames behind William's eyes and blasted the fantasies apart. William backed quickly into the corner of Sammy's room, shocked at himself, and Sammy's eyes followed him; he could see him! William looked down at himself, at his wounds and bloody clothes, and realized he must look terrifying.

"No, Sammy, please don't be scared," William said. "I-It's just Grandpa."

Sammy was still whimpering, but he wasn't screaming anymore. He shook and sniffled and William stopped approaching him because he didn't want to make him more frightened than he already was. There was thumping from outside and the door burst open to Charlie.

"What's wrong?" she asked, rushing over to Sammy.

Sammy looked over at William, confused.

"Your mom can't see or hear me," William explained, wringing his hands. "Please don't tell on me. I don't want her to get mad."

"What happened?" asked Charlie.

Sammy considered carefully what to say. "I thought I saw a monster in my closet," he said.

Charlie stroked his back comfortingly. "Do you want me to spray your closet again?" she asked.

"No, that's okay," replied Sammy. "It was just a bad dream."

Charlie looked over her shoulder like she suspected something, but she didn't bring it up. "All right," she said, "if you're sure. Good night, kiddo." She kissed him on the head and went to make sure the scream hadn't woken Beth or scared Elizabeth.

When she left, Sammy went back to silently staring at William, clearly wondering why he looked the way he did.

"This is what I look like without my suit," William explained. "I-I'm sorry it's a little scary."

They stayed like that for a while, Sammy sitting up in bed, hugging the rabbit protectively to his chest, and William standing anxiously in the center of the room. Multicolor stars swirled on the ceiling, projected from a night light lamp sitting on the desk, chasing shadows away. Sammy's tiny glasses sat next to it on top of an unfinished crayon drawing. William leaned over and saw that it was of a large yellow rabbit in a vest, holding hands with a boy and two girls.

"I-Is that us?" he asked carefully. Sammy nodded. "You're a very talented artist," he said. "I like the fur tufts on the ears. Very realistic. Your dad liked to draw too when he was little, did you know that?"

Sammy nodded and pointed to the small blue dresser across from the bed. William followed his finger and saw that, sitting on top beside a pile of folded socks was a birthday card that had been propped open. Inside was a simple drawing of a brontosaurus eating the leaves off a palm tree. It warmed William's heart to see that Michael drew pictures for his children. William wondered why he hadn't bothered to draw pictures for Michael and his siblings when they were younger. It would be weird to start now, he thought, even if he could hold a pencil.

"Why aren't you wearing your bunny suit?" Sammy asked. "You said you couldn't breathe without it. And why are you all blurry?"

William didn't know what to say. He and Mike had already woven a child-friendly reason for the existence of Springtrap. They had created a version that allowed Beth and Sammy to still believe that their family was more or less normal. However, Sammy had now seen both Elizabeth and the new state of their father. William wished he knew how Mike and Charlie had explained all of that so he could know how honest he could be. Sammy was staring at him, squeezing his stuffed animal, waiting for an answer. Maybe it was time for the truth.

"Can I tell you a story?" asked William, sitting crosslegged on the floor. "It might be a little scary, but I promise it has a happy ending, okay?" William hoped it did, at least.

"Okay," agreed Sammy uncertainly.

William left a lot out of his version; he didn't tell Sammy about the children or his hand in the murders, the painful way in which he had died, or how Elizabeth had torn him apart. But he did confide in him that he was a ghost and that he had been a ghost even in the rabbit suit and that's why he hadn't been able to eat the pancakes. He told Sammy that his suit had been broken and so now he couldn't wear it and only a couple people in the house could see him without it. When he finished the story, he let his hands fall to his lap and he waited for Sammy to respond.

Sammy scrunched his nose up as he processed the information he had just been given, thinking back to the beans on toast breakfast, the movie they had watched together, and the first time they had met and he had scared him and his sister.

"You're a ghost for real?" asked Sammy finally. "Like on Scooby Doo?"

William smiled to show him everything was okay. "Yes, but I'm a friendly ghost, like Caspar. I never wanted to scare you or Beth. All I've ever wanted is to spend more time with you both."

Sammy went quiet again, processing further. In the way his eyebrows scrunched together, William saw a hint of Michael.

"You look scary like that," said Sammy.

"Because of the…because I look hurt?"

Sammy nodded. "And your eyes look like a skeleton."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said William, lowering his eyes and crossing his arms tight across his chest to try and hide some of the wounds. "I wish I could look differently."

Sammy hugged the rabbit tighter. "Why are you in my room?" he mumbled into the fur as though he was afraid the question might make William angry. Sammy was still frightened of William, and why wouldn't he be? They had barely spent any time together when he was dressed as Springbonnie and now, he was a gruesome ghost. They didn't have the kind of relationship yet that could withstand that kind of shock. As far as William knew, this scare might be the last straw; Sammy might never trust or like William again.

"I-I'm sorry," William said quietly. He got slowly to his feet so Sammy wouldn't think he was coming after him. "I can go if you want. I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He waited for agreement from Sammy that, yes, he should leave, but Sammy didn't give it. He just continued hugging his stuffed animal and staring at his nightlight.

"You can stay," Sammy said, almost inaudibly quiet. "But I have to go to bed. I have school tomorrow."

William approached the bed, excited. "Oh thank you, Sammy. That's just fine. I don't mind. I'll, um," He planted himself in front of the closet. "I'll sit right here and guard your closet all night. You'll be safe as long as I'm here. I promise."

Sammy's eyebrows were still knit hard; he still looked worried. Even so, he said, "Okay, Grandpa Will," and snuggled back down under the covers. He lay on his side and stared at William for a long time but finally, his eyelids sank closed and he fell asleep.

William stayed seated in front of Sammy's closet all night like he had promised. As the stars continued to spin lazily against the ceiling and the dark of midnight turned to the blue of early morning, William listened hard for the laughing and kept his eyes peeled for the cornfield child in case it came back. He knew it was probably a hallucination triggered by the movie they had watched, but he couldn't stop himself from worrying if it wasn't. The afterlife was a complicated and vicious place. Spirits could possess animatronics and kill living people. They could get trapped between this world and the next, or sag out of closets to scare little boys. Sammy had been scared before by something in his closet. Whether the monster in Sammy's closet was just a nightmare or a real threat, William didn't know; however, if he had learned anything during his life, it was to not take foolish chances, especially not while using your family as collateral.

When the cornfield child didn't return to Sammy's room and nothing came creeping out of the closet, William pushed up to his feet and returned to Beth's room to make sure he hadn't been hiding out in there. Beth was still sound asleep, the small nightlight obscured in the growing morning light. William checked all the corners, in her closet and under her bed to make sure the child wasn't hiding, but he didn't see any sign of those curly locks and muddy trousers; the specter seemed to be leaving her alone. When Beth was awake and asking questions, she looked a lot like Charlie, but when she was asleep on her stomach, face buried in her pillow with her blanket tangled and sliding off the bed, she looked like William. Annie had told him he slept like that, tangled and chaotic, and then took a picture when he didn't believe her. He always used to go to bed with socks on and woke up to find them gone, but other than that, he'd thought he slept pretty normally.

William pinched the corner of the comforter and pulled at it, hoping he could coax it to cover Beth. The fabric stuck in his grip and, with a bit of concentration, he was able to pull it back onto the bed. Beth stirred and William immediately let go and stepped back into the shadows. If she woke up and saw him pulling on her blanket, she might get the wrong idea. He wondered if she would be able to see him but he thought it was best not to surprise her like he had surprised Sammy, so he left.

William went downstairs to check on Elizabeth and found her sitting on her windowsill, staring out at the sinking moon. The blue light fell gently across her flannel pajamas, making her look like something from a Christmas card. She looked like she belonged in the space, in contrast to William, whose body disappeared wherever the light hit him.

"Hi Lizzy," he greeted quietly.

"Hi Daddy," she greeted in return.

William cautiously sat across from her on the sill. "Did you have a good night?"

"Yes," she said and her glowing eyes turned to him. "We read three books and colored a whole coloring book."

"That's quite a lot," said William.

"We read a Nancy Drew one, which is a big book with chapters," she said sitting a little taller. "It was about a clock."

"Very impressive!" William wondered what he had done to deserve to get to talk like this again with his daughter. Nothing, he decided. He had done nothing to deserve this. A spoke had broken out of the wheel of justice that allowed him to slip through in this regard, secretly spending time with his loved ones when he should be burning in hell instead. "It was very nice of Beth to give you those pajamas," he continued.

"We like Beth a lot," said Elizabeth, happily smoothing out the wrinkles in her cozy, long-sleeve shirt. "We asked if she wanted to be best friends and she said yes."

"Well, naturally!" William exclaimed. He cupped her face. "Who wouldn't want to be best friends with the most wonderful girl in the world?"

"Beth said we were fun," said Elizabeth, thrilled with the attention. "She sounds like she really likes us, even though we are an animatronic."

"You're perfect in every way, Lizzie," William insisted. He thought of their ice cream outings, how she always wanted the "pink" ice cream, regardless of the flavor. He thought of the ballet recital he had missed half of because he had gotten caught up in the lab. He remembered scrubbing his hands and arms and shirt furiously to get the grease off because he didn't want to show up "looking like a slob" in front of the other parents, and Henry told him to calm down and that it was "just a recital" and that there was "one every year" and that "Elizabeth would forgive him."

"You're perfect," William said again, "and being mechanical doesn't change that. I'm-I'm sorry you had to go through the things you did because of me."

"Please, Daddy," Elizabeth guided his hands away from her face. "Don't apologize anymore."

"Sorry," said William. "I mean, I'll try not to. Can I sit with you until the rest of the family gets up?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied.

They sat together and talked. Elizabeth told her father what it was like first meeting Beth and Sammy, how she was so nervous but Mike and Charlie were able to introduce her so well that they quickly calmed down and became fast friends. William talked about Jack and the coffee shop, and how after their conversation, William thought they were probably friends as well.

All the while, William kept a sharp eye out for the cornfield child. He didn't see him or hear him laughing, but he could feel him in the far back of his mind, as though if he looked over his shoulder at the right time, he'd catch him staring at him. He didn't tell Elizabeth about it because he was enjoying talking to her and he didn't want to ruin the mood. He'd tell Jack the next day, though he really didn't want to do that, either. William felt like the child was more than a hallucination; not a ghost, but some sort of omen, and William worried that if he confessed that he was seeing it, his family and Jack might view him as a lost cause. After all, how much progress could he have made if he was still fantasizing about killing children?

As if on cue, Elizabeth asked him what he had thought of the movie. William thought at first that she knew what he was thinking, that she knew about the urges and hallucinations and that she was baiting him, but as she watched him, innocently waiting for his opinion, he realized how ridiculous that was.

"It was good," he managed to squeak out as he stared at his hands. "I liked it."

"We didn't understand it," Elizabeth said. "But we liked the farmer's little kid. He was funny, don't you think?"

Heat crawled up William's spine, and riding it like a wave, came that hellishly cherubic giggling. It flowed from everywhere at once and suddenly everywhere he looked, he saw that smiling, frost-kissed face: peering out of the closet and sitting on the bed and hovering up by the ceiling and tucked behind the trees in the backyard. They were everywhere, squeezing William from all sides with their gazes like airbags and William couldn't move, couldn't breathe, for fear that he might kill something before he could stop himself. He had to get out of there and fast.

William cut Elizabeth off mid-sentence when he grabbed her hands and smiled his big, customer-service smile.

"Just a moment, Lizzy," he said cheerfully. "Daddy's got to go do something, okay? I'll just be a minute."

Elizabeth wasn't fooled any more than Michael had been. "You're shaking, Daddy," she said calmly. "Why are you shaking?"

William squeezed his hands together, willing himself to sit still. "I'm fine, I just, I need to get some fresh air." He dropped to his feet, stalked toward the door, and heard the thump of Elizabeth dropping to her feet as well. "No, sweetie, please don't follow me." When he phased through the door, Elizabeth opened it and followed him out. He laughed loudly. "Christ, Lizzie, I'll be back in a bit, I promise!"

Elizabeth shut the door behind her. "You are acting weird," she said, "and we don't feel good about leaving you alone right now."

William couldn't help the sarcastic chuckle that rumbled through him. "Oh, so now it's a problem for me to be alone. Where was that sentiment thirty years ago?"

Elizabeth frowned and William realized he had hurt her. Shame ate through the control panel in his chest. "Sorry, Lizzie" he said. "I didn't mean that."

"We were alone, too," she replied in a small voice. "for a very long time."

"I know. I'm sorry. I got scared a-and I lashed out."

"What are you scared of?" She took his hand to comfort him.

The cornfield children watched William from all corners of the house. The laughter started turning into words that William could just barely hear, but he understood: words like "Fazbear" and "remnant" and "murderer" and "hell." The children were smiling because they got to see William incapacitated, weak and foolish. They were laughing at him, enjoying their revenge.

"M-myself, I think."

William pulled out of her grip and walked through the rows of children to the garage. Henry's aura still hung there like death and the boxes of Springbonnie's scraps sat in the center like an open casket. There were children in here with William as well, standing on the bed, peeking out from around the chair and under the desk, and crouched along the walls. The children began to change from clones of the cornfield child to faces and voices he recognized, even though he had only known them for a short time.

He learned the names of the children after he had killed them, when mothers and fathers came in with arms full of missing posters with their kids' faces on them and asked him, as the owner of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, if he would please post one in the window in case anyone had seen them. William agreed and remembered viscerally the experience of taping the posters in the window right next to the glass front doors. He arranged the posters in a grid so they wouldn't cover up too much of the window and he used just a bit of scotch tape in the corners so that the posters wouldn't leave sticky marks when everyone forgot about the missing children and he took them down.

William peered into the boxes and even though most of the scraps were metal, all he could see were the bones and leathery flesh mixed in. He caught sight of teeth and then, suddenly, his own dead face was staring up at him like an old mask. He didn't want to look at it, but he couldn't look away. The mouth on the mangled face turned downward, and its sunken eyes stared up at the ceiling, up at William. It looked disappointed, perhaps with its predicament or because of what William had become. With a shaking hand, William reached into the box to reassure himself that what he was experiencing was real, maybe even to comfort his old, worried head. When his fingers made contact with the flesh, William was pulled forward as if by gravity. He lost his balance and came crashing down onto his face, not onto the box, but onto dirty, peeling linoleum.

His heavy body clicked and whirred as he pushed up to his knees and then his feet. The hallway was dark but he knew immediately where he was. Laughter echoed over the loudspeaker and it grabbed onto the cables in his brain like two fists. His electronic eyes flickered and he caught sight of himself in the window that looked into the office. He was in the Springtrap suit again, missing pieces of himself, covered in blood and dirt. There was no sign that his experience with Mike, Charlie, Elizabeth, and the grandkids had ever happened. What if it had all been an elaborate hallucination? What if he had never escaped Fazbear's Fright at all? His bones and springlocks shook and he tried to breathe, tried not to panic.

The child's voice track played again and William looked up at the window. Inside the office sat a security guard, the same security guard that he thought he had killed, and they locked eyes for a long uncomfortable moment. The guard was hunched protectively over the control panel and William could almost see the sweat beading on his brow. The guard believed William was going to kill him, and maybe William would have a few years ago, but right now, that was the last thing he wanted to do. Hallucination of family or not, this was all a big misunderstanding, and he needed the guard to know that.

With difficulty, William ignored the voice prompts and limped into the office. The guard plastered himself against the wall and held his heavy flashlight out at Springtrap like a weapon. William slowed his pace and kept his distance. He needed to make the guard understand that he wasn't in danger and he wasn't going to do that by scaring him further.

"I-I-I'm not g-g-g-oing to hhhhurt yyyou." His voice box was rusty and difficult to manipulate. The guard didn't lower his flashlight. William's heart broke, thinking of his grandchildren and how they probably didn't even exist. They had always seemed too good to be true. William pulled his mask upward. "Mmm-mm n-n-not S-S-S-Springtrappp a-a-a-a-annnnymorrree. I-I-I'm just a p-p-persson." The springlocks got caught and the mask wouldn't come off fully but William continued to yank on it and, finally, the rusted springlocks snapped and the mask lifted free from his rotting skull. He held the mask out to the security guard as a peace offering.

The guard stared between the mask and William's face for a long time; slowly, he lowered his flashlight, but he didn't make any movement to take the mask from him. With achy movements, William set the mask gently onto the floor and without another word, walked back out into the hall.

Suddenly, the ground shifted and William slammed into the wall. When he picked himself up again, he was no longer in the Springtrap suit or at Fazbear's Fright. He was human again, solid and alive, in a grease-and-blood-stained plastic apron, latex gloves, and a surgical mask, standing somewhere cold underground, dark except for the sporadic industrial lighting he and Henry had installed.

"Hey Willy, are you going to stand over there all night or are you going to give me a hand?"

William turned and saw Henry in his own apron, gloves and mask, hunched over a metal table with a scalpel. There was a mass lying on the table covered in a dark plastic sheet and William's stomach dropped. There were medical trays sitting around with plastic containers, ready to be filled with samples, and the floor and the unfinished animatronics sitting on desks were covered with plastic sheeting to keep the makeshift operating room sterile. On a table nearby lay Chica, her chest plate opened up and a large hole melted through the machinery inside where they had extracted the molten metal that would eventually become a key part of remnant.

The child on the table was their first, William realized. This was the first time they had moved from cats and dogs to human trials. William knew this because the child was unconscious, pumped full of anesthesia, whereas they discovered later that the remnant was much more potent if the child was awake when they extracted it; something about pain and trauma made it more likely to yield a lifelike response from the animatronic it was injected into.

William carefully approached the table, dress shoes clacking across the concrete and swishing in the plastic. The child was lying on his stomach, completely covered except for a large square exposing his back. Henry handed William the scalpel and clapped him on the shoulder.

"You earned the first cut for sneaking this one away so skillfully," he said happily. "This is the first moment of the rest of our lives. Can you feel it?"

William gripped the scalpel hard and stared down at the child, watching his back move with slumbering breaths, the pen markings of where to cut rising and falling. If he had known what these experiments would lead to, he never would have agreed to engage in them. Then again, even though he hadn't known, he still should have been strong enough to say "No." His conscious had been screaming at him the whole time, but he had ignored it because he wanted to destroy something innocent and Henry had convinced him it was for the greater good. He stepped back from the table, stepped out from under Henry's hand, clutching the scalpel to his chest.

"N-no," he stuttered. "We can't do this again. This is very, very wrong."

Henry looked confused. "What are you talking about? You were all for it fifteen minutes ago." He waited for William to respond, but William didn't know what to say. He felt like Henry would be able to talk him out of whatever convictions he had, so instead of reasoning with him, William threw the scalpel deep into the darkness of the lab.

"What the hell, Will?" Henry demanded. "The anesthesia isn't going to last forever. Go pick that up, disinfect it, and stop screwing around."

"I can't be a part of this," William said. He took off his safety gear and dropped it onto the floor.

"William, we talked about this."

"I'm leaving and I'm taking the child with me." William stepped toward the table but Henry blocked him and grabbed his arm hard.

"If you do, we're finished," Henry threatened. William struggled and Henry grabbed his other arm to keep him away from the operating table.

William yanked free and pushed Henry stumbling away. Before Henry could come at him again, William wrapped the limp child in the plastic and carried him toward the entrance to the tunnel. Henry yelled threats after him, but he didn't follow and William did his best to ignore them. Shifting the child's weight to one arm, William typed in the code for the tunnel door and walked through.

What he entered wasn't the tunnel; instead, he found himself standing in the back room at Freddy's, wearing Springbonnie as a costume. The room was quiet and dusty, but he could hear muffled music coming from the party room at the front of the restaurant. The unconscious child was gone, replaced by a little girl standing in front of him in the dark.

It was his first victim and the only one he couldn't blame on Henry at all. He and Henry were studying artificial life, but they hadn't even begun to conceive of remnant. No, this little girl was just a broken plate to him. A springlock failure, a bashed-in windshield. He was angry, he felt cornered by life's misfortunes, and he just needed someone to take it out on. And then this girl came to a friend's birthday party and couldn't stop crying over the dog she had lost.

William had learned all the details as he served them cake, told jokes, and danced in his Springbonnie suit. She never stopped talking about her dog and how she hadn't put the leash on before she opened the door and how fast it had darted out. William's infected soul festered more with each passing minute. "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about," his father used to say. William hated him for it, but it was true. There were much worse things in the world than losing a damn dog, and the part of him that wanted to prove it to her kept growing.

When she went over to play in the arcade alone, it was too easy. All William had to do was say that he had found a dog and he wanted her to come see if it might be hers, and she followed him quietly to the back room.

Now, alone with her, his gloved hands brushing against the pair of scissors lying on the desk behind him, alarmingly he found that some part of him still wanted to go through with it. The rush of power he had felt was intoxicating, better than anything he had ever felt and would ever feel again. Better, that is, until the feeling he had when he met his grandchildren.

The girl was wiping tears away from her red face and there were sauce stains on the front of her Freddy Fazbear t-shirt. She only came up to William's waist…Christ, why had he ever felt triumph killing someone so helpless?

"Did you find my dog, Mr. Bonnie?" she whimpered. William stared hard at her, hands clenching the back of the desk to keep himself grounded as he considered what to do.

"No," he said finally. He removed the Springbonnie head. "I-I was mistaken, I'm sorry." He removed the rest of the costume, revealing the purple shirt and dress pants underneath, and laid it carefully on the desk. "And please call me Mr. Afton. Or William. What's your name?"

"Susie," she said. She began to cry, lamenting that her dog was still lost. William dug through the desk drawer, pulled out a lollipop from his secret stash, and handed it to her. He crouched to her height as she tearfully unwrapped it.

"I'm sorry about your dog," said William. "He's probably just off on an adventure and I'm sure he'll come back once he starts missing you."

"Really?" she hiccuped.

"Yeah," said William, standing. "Come on, let's get you back to your friends."

William opened the door to the bright hallway and they both stepped through, but once William's eyes adjusted, he saw that Susie was gone and he was back in the garage, kneeling in front of the boxes. Standing around him were all the children he had killed. They glowed so brightly that he had to shield his eyes, and their wrath was so hot he felt like he was being burned alive.

"I'm sorry…" He curled protectively as they crowded closer. He was afraid they were going to tear apart his spirit the way Elizabeth had torn apart his body, but if that's what it took for the children to find closure, he couldn't deny them. "You're completely justified in trapping me here forever. I know you have every right not to, but please, please forgive me."

He tucked his head under his arms and closed his eyes, waiting. Tiny hands began to rest all over him, from his head to his shoulders to his back, and everywhere they touched burned. The hands burned like fire in a smelting furnace, pressing into him, melting him down and forcing to the surface all the impurities he had so carefully buried. They burned like a chemical bath, eating away the remaining flesh from his bones and vaporizing the last bubonic particles of him. Pain radiated through him and pulsed like a heartbeat and he knew they were getting their final revenge.

"I'm so sorry," he said again because he couldn't think of what else to say. He thought of his family and how he would never see them again. He wondered if they would ever find out what happened to him or if he would just be gone. "Do what you need to do but please don't hurt my family afterwards." He felt his bones superheating and breaking apart. "They're nothing like me and they've done nothing wrong." Cold tears cut through his cheeks and he scrunched his eyes closed tighter, angry that he was feeling sorry for himself, because he did still feel sorry for himself, even though he knew he had no right to. He had set these events into motion and it wasn't appropriate for him to feel like a victim in any regard.

"We don't want you to hate yourself forever, we just want you to understand."

The voices of the children echoed in his skull and vibrated the length of his body like a bell but the burning hands didn't let up; in fact, they reached deeper and burned hotter. William shivered in spite of it.

"Murderers don't change," said the voices in unison, "and they need to die."

The hands wound through his brain like police officers sneaking through a back door to rescue hostages. William's entire focus was on the pain and he could only glimpse the quiet hands out of the corner of his mind's eye. His brain clenched around them, worried that they might break something in his already fragile mind, that they might grab the wrong thing, or that they might decide all of him was unsalvageable and throw everything out. But he didn't have power over them anymore so he tried to relax and trust that whatever they did would be justice.

The hands found something like ethereal cables: long, cold, and caked with battery acid where they had corroded. There were so many that William worried that maybe his brain was nothing but cables now and there was no hope for him, but the children were not daunted. They reached in and grabbed the cables firmly, ignoring the spits and sparks of protest. They pulled slowly and deliberately, working the barbed tips free when they caught on the inside of his skull or each other, and pulled them carefully out through the back of his head as though it had been opened up like a maintenance hatch. William's head began to feel lighter and he thought it was over until the main cable pulled taut, as though it was still plugged into his cerebellum.

"Do you want it gone?" asked the voices.

"Yes," William sobbed into his knees. "Please, please remove it."

"We can't. You need to detach it yourself."

William didn't have to ask them how, because he already knew. He wiped his tears and the burning hands pulled back a bit to give him room for what he needed to do. William bowed his head and, with great concentration, he slipped his incorporeal hands up through his jaw and into his brain. He felt around gently for the cable that was still plugged in and when he found it, he began to pull. Sudden fear flushed through him, feelings of incompetence and failure and mediocrity. He felt like, even though the cables were bad, they were the most interesting thing about him and if he removed them, he would be reduced to nothing.

But even if he was nothing, he still had his family and he just needed to decide if that was enough for him.

It was.

William gave a final tug, dislodged the prongs, and the cable slid out. The garage went quiet.

"Your murderer," the children introduced as they set the glowing mass of cables into his cupped hands. William was surprised how small it looked outside of him, how ridiculous. It was pulsing like a heart, but it was moving less with each pump and the glow was fading as well. William looked up at the children crowded around him.

"What should I do with it?" he asked.

"Bury it with the rabbit," the children answered. "Immediately."

William jumped shakily to his feet and ran into the house, cradling the fading knot of cables in his hands like he was afraid they might spill. He ran into Mike and Charlie's room and bounced nervously next to Mike's snoring face.

"Mike, wake up please," he jittered. He looked back at the door, hoping the children would wait for him, and then down at the cables in his hands. He nudged Mike in the face hard with his elbow and Mike jolted awake.

"Dad!" he said, then coughed suddenly in pain. "What are you doing?"

"I need you to help me bury Springtrap," William said. "The children said I need to bury these with the suit right now." He presented the cables to Mike but Mike didn't act like he saw them. Charlie stirred next to Mike and rubbed her eyes.

"What's going on?" she yawned, sitting up. Her eyes locked with William's and she jumped so hard she almost fell out of bed. "Fuck!" she said. "William, is that you?"

William nodded, too distracted to truly appreciate that almost all of his family could see him now. "It's me."

"He needs help burying the suit or something," Michael replied, wearily dragging his feet into his slippers.

"Bury the suit?" asked Charlie. "Why?" She didn't sound sold on the idea, but she was up and slipping on her robe anyway. If Michael was going, she was, too.

"To get rid of this," William said, showing the cables to Charlie. She glanced down and looked confused, so William pulled them protectively back to his chest. "I-I'd do it myself if I could, but the suit is too heavy. Please hurry."

"Okay, Dad," Michael smiled and gave him a quick side-hug as he passed him. "We'll take care of it, won't we Charlie?"

"Yes, we'll take care of it," agreed Charlie.

William followed them through the quiet house and back into the garage. The children were gone and the garage was dark again. William looked down at the cables in his hands and saw that they were going dark as well. They jerked once in a while, still trying to stay alive, but without William to feed on, they were fading fast. Elizabeth met them there, having been looking for William, and together, they dragged the boxes of dismembered Springtrap down the deck steps and into the backyard.

William helped them sort out the pieces as best he could without dropping the cables. He was afraid that, if he dropped them, they'd take root in the ground and he'd never be able to be rid of them. They separated William's body from the animatronic, piece by piece, until they had made two piles that were smaller than William would have expected. Next to Springbonnie, William's dead, broken body looked tiny and sad in comparison. It was hard to believe something so frail had caused so much harm.

Michael caught William staring and he put his arm around him comfortingly. "What do you say we bury the biodegradable stuff and recycle the metal?" he asked.

"The children said I needed to bury the rabbit," William said, still staring, unblinking, at his body.

"The metal pieces aren't going to decompose, William," said Charlie, leaning on the shovel.

"They said I need to bury the rabbit and the cables together," William insisted.

"Okay, Dad," said Mike. He looked at Charlie. "I think the earth can forgive us this once, don't you?"

Charlie sighed but smiled. "I think so," she said and she and Elizabeth began to dig.

In the end, they dug one wide grave and lay the suit and William's body side by side. William lay the now cold, lifeless cables on top of the suit and when he did, the cables relaxed as if giving a final sigh of surrender. The knot loosened and the tight cables unwound smaller and smaller like cornsilk, until they were so thin that William couldn't see them among the rubble. William pushed the first handful of dirt back into the grave and then, Charlie and Elizabeth, after taking the shovel from Michael and telling him that he shouldn't be doing physical labor, finished filling it in.

The sun peeked over the edge of the backyard fence as Charlie and Elizabeth patted down the last of the black soil; Michael stood close by his father, a comforting hand around his shoulder.

Sammy's face appeared in the upstairs window and then moments later the door to the deck cracked open.

"Don't be scared," Sammy said quietly. "That's just Grandpa Will."

William turned and saw his grandchildren standing on the deck, Beth staring at him in disbelief. Sammy smiled and waved and William waved back. Taking that as a cue that everything was all right, Sammy and Beth came down the stairs and walked across the grass to join the rest of the family.

"Whatcha doing?" Sammy asked.

Michael and Charlie hesitated, so William spoke up. "A little funeral of sorts," he said, pointing at the upturned earth. "That's my grave."

Mike and Charlie looked at each other uncertainly, worrying that the explanation was too gruesome, but Sammy squeezed through them and crouched at the edge of the soil. "You're in there?" he asked.

"Yeah," said William, sitting next to him on the ground. "It makes me a little sad to think about."

"My goldfish is buried over there by the birdbath," said Beth as she sat carefully next to Sammy. "I was sad when we buried her, but Mom said we always have to bury things when they die so they can rest." William glanced back at Charlie; Mike had his arm around her, whether to give her support or because he was having trouble standing, William couldn't tell.

"I think that's a wise way to look at it," said William. "Maybe it will help me rest, too."

"You're not leaving, are you?" demanded Sammy.

William looked around for any sign that his time had come, but as usual, there wasn't one. "No," he said, "as far as I know, I'm here to stay."

Sammy climbed into William's lap and they sat that way for a long moment together, staring at the grave.

"Hey, Beth," Elizabeth spoke up after a while. "We colored a whole coloring book with glitter crayons. Do you want to see?"

"Cool!" Beth jumped to her feet and together they went inside to look at Elizabeth's masterpiece.

"I think I'm going to get started on breakfast," Charlie said quietly.

"Okay," said Mike, giving her a kiss. "I'll come in, too. Hey," he addressed Sammy and William. "Do you guys want to help make some breakfast?"

"Can we have pancakes again?" asked Sammy.

"I don't see why not," said Michael. "What do you say, Dad? Up for helping make pancakes?"

William smiled and got to his feet, taking Sammy's hand. "I'd like nothing better."

* * *

A/N: Michael did a lot of hugging in this chapter, but then again, there was a lot of hugging that needed doing. Good job being supportive, Michael.

Only one chapter left! It's so hard to believe the end is here already. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this Afton Family Circus. The last chapter will be up soon. Thank you again!


	15. Repairs

A/N: Content Warning: Surgery

* * *

Children chased each other through the center fountain of the newly opened Missing Children's Memorial Park. August had been a scorcher of a month and the kids of Denver were thankful to have a safe place to play and cool off.

Fazbear's Fright had been demolished and once the dirt was leveled and the grass and trees were planted the land rid itself of the scar fairly quickly. For those old enough to remember Fazbear's, seeing it go felt like a fresh start. Grocers, bank clerks and waiters watched from their windows as bulldozers ripped the building away and when it was gone, the city breathed a united sigh of relief. The children didn't know much about it except for stories that got passed around school, so seeing a building removed that had been empty their entire lives didn't seem like such a monumental event; what got them more excited was seeing the fountain and jungle gym being constructed and they thought about climbing the statues of the children and giant bear in the center of the park during summer break. The park opened mid-August, giving the children of Denver just enough time to enjoy it before they had to go back to school.

One such Saturday, the Afton-Schmidts decided to go and enjoy the sunshine in the newly-opened park. Elizabeth, Beth, and Sammy raced on the monkey bars in the adjacent playground with the other children while Michael, Charlie, and William sat on a picnic blanket in the shade under a nearby tree. William watched Elizabeth and his grandkids intently, listening to their laughs and screams mixing with those of other children. The sound of children's voices still made parts of his brain feel fuzzy, but with Jack's help, he had been able to observe the feeling, validate it, and channel the nervous energy it created into something constructive. He knew he might have trouble with intrusive thoughts at the park today, so he brought along the sketchbook Jack had given him and methodically filled the open page with doodles of animals.

Charlie was reading a novel as she leaned against Mike and she looked up every so often to make sure her kids and Elizabeth were still in sight, even though if anyone tried to take them, Elizabeth could probably protect them better than any of the adults. Michael was hunched over his laptop getting some work done. To William's dismay, Mike's body had continued to weaken after the trauma in the lab. His old wounds never healed and new ones continued to pull open, which he wrapped with gauze or patched up with colorful bandaids. His skin had been growing slowly darker and worn like thin leather and William had worried it would continue until he rotted away. Finally, Mike's body reached a kind of equilibrium in the spring and, while the old tearing and injuries didn't heal, it showed no new signs of deterioration.

Physical activities were extremely difficult for him, and because of his discolored skin, mortal wounds, bloodshot eyes, and unnatural thinness, he never went out in public without a heavy coat and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. People didn't stare at him, as far as William could tell, but Mike was still self-conscious and for that William felt guilty. Mike switched to a desk job at the auto body shop to accommodate his new limitations, which meant that he could work almost entirely from home. William had to admit that he was more than a little delighted about this turn of events, because it meant he got to see both of his children all day and he and Michael got to spend time most afternoons ironing out the details for the memorial.

William had only asked to help with the memorial at first as a ploy to get Michael to go with him to the lab, but once everything slowed down and they actually began putting it together, William enjoyed being a part of things, even though the process dug up sticky feelings and painful memories that he had to work through with Jack. He didn't feel like he had any place putting a memorial together for his victims, but Jack assured him it was good for him to participate.

"Daddy, look!" Elizabeth called from the top of the jungle gym. She stood with cotton feet planted firmly on the top of the red plastic tube slide, the new summer overalls that Charlie had bought for her rustling faintly in the breeze. "Look what we can do!"

"Careful, Lizzie!" William called back, anxiously standing to his feet, preparing to catch her if she fell. Elizabeth swung her arms low and threw them up over her head. The other children watched in awe as she backflipped off the jungle gym and landed effortlessly on her feet in the bark chips below.

"You're so cool, Lizzie!" Beth called down from the monkey bars and Sammy ran over to give her a high five. Various other children cheered and complimented her. The other children didn't seem to mind that Elizabeth was a living doll, but children tended to be more accepting of those kinds of things; if anything, her differences added to her popularity.

She hopped over the edge of the bark chip bed and ran up to William. "Did you see?" she asked, bouncing.

William laughed incredulously. "I sure did!" He lifted her into the air—something that had taken him almost a full year to learn to do as a spirit—and spun her around once before setting her down again. "You're the most talented girl in the world."

Michael pushed the bill of his hat up a bit with a smirk. "You're making sure not to land on other kids when you do stuff like that, right Liz?" he asked.

"Yes," Elizabeth replied. "And we tell the other kids not to copy us because it's dangerous."

"Sounds like you're on top of it," said Charlie.

"Yup," said Elizabeth, craning her neck to see William's sketchbook. "Are the children bothering you?" she asked knowingly.

"Just, ah…" William rubbed the back of his neck to get the hairs to lie flat. "Just a little bit."

"We can tell them to stop being loud," said Elizabeth.

"No, don't do that," said William. "I'm doing okay."

"Okay, Daddy," Elizabeth said. "Your drawings are getting better."

"Thank you," he replied with a small smile. "I was never very good at drawing horses in life, so I thought I ought to learn."

"Beth draws really good horses," said Elizabeth.

"I know," said William. "I've seen them on the fridge."

"You should come play," said Elizabeth, then gaining more confidence, she repeated it. "Come play with us, Daddy." She grabbed his hands and pulled him toward the playground.

William stumbled happily after her for a moment, but as he got closer to the children, he felt his brain heating up more and more and he let his hands slip through her fingers. She looked back at him, confused.

"I, um, my head's feeling a little fuzzy today, Lizzie, and I don't think the playground would be good for me," he said. "I'll play with you at home, okay?"

Elizabeth's shoulders sank. "But why?" she asked. "We thought you said you were doing better."

"I am," said William. "But I don't want to overdo it. You understand, don't you?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Yes," she said. "We understand."

William smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead. "Good girl," he said. William didn't think he was in danger of kidnapping or hurting a child again—he had removed that part of himself—but while the ammunition was buried in the ground with the suit, the trigger was still lodged inside him. He didn't like feeling that trigger pulled and he did his best to avoid events that set it off. There were some things he couldn't avoid, such as the memorial and children in movies, but he avoided what he could because he didn't want to get used to that feeling again; he wanted the hot, fuzzy feeling to remain a troubling anomaly in an otherwise healthy ecosystem.

"Hey, Charlie," Elizabeth called. "Do you want to come play?"

Charlie closed her book, gave Mike a kiss, and stood up.

"You bet," she said jogging over. "Want to go on the swings?"

"Yeah!" Elizabeth cheered.

Charlie gently squeezed William's shoulder when she walked by. They shared a passing look, a kind of melancholy approval of his choice to disengage, and William went to sit beside Michael.

Mike was still busily typing on his laptop, squinting close to the screen against the glare. "I'm proud of you, Dad," he said, patting William's arm. "It seems like your sessions with Jack are really helping."

William nodded, taking the sketchbook in his lap. "They are," he said, watching Charlie and Elizabeth on the swings. "I invited him over for lunch tomorrow, if that's okay."

Mike looked up briefly and smiled. "Sure," he said. "It'll be nice to see him again."

"I'm thinking of making egg salad sandwiches and soup," said William. "I should be able to manage that level of object manipulation."

"I'd think so," replied Mike.

William scanned the children on the jungle gym until he found Beth and Sammy; Beth was going down the slide and Sammy was climbing a pole. The fountain hissed and splashed nearby. "Michael," William said quietly, "I have a question, and I'd appreciate if you would answer me honestly."

Michael looked up again from his laptop and adjusted his cap so he could see William's face. "Sure, Dad," he said. "What is it?"

William absently drew circles on the page as he worked to calm himself. "Are you doing all right?" he asked. "I know your body has plateaued and you tell me that if you keep your injures clean and wrapped they don't bother you, but you know me: I can't stop worrying about it, and I'd rather you tell me you aren't doing well than lie to me because you don't want to hurt my feelings." He paused and Michael didn't respond. "So, are you? Are you okay?"

Mike slowly clicked his laptop shut. He didn't speak right away, but that was all right; William had an endless amount of time and the hesitation made him think that Mike actually might tell him the truth. William braced himself for it; what would he do if Mike said he was miserable? In excruciating pain? What could William possibly do to alleviate that? Maybe if he and Henry had continued their research ten, twenty, or thirty more years, he might know how to repair Mike. But that ship had sailed long ago and the only research on it was what they already had, and that wasn't much.

Mike folded his hands together pensively and ran his thumb along a line of bandaids encircling his index finger, back and forth as if the neon plastic would show him what to say. He drew in a long shallow breath. "Some days are better than others," he said like it was the hardest thing he'd ever been forced to admit. "I miss the shop, working with my hands, but the job puts too much stress on my joints now, you know?"

William stared at his lap. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault," Michael said, gaze wandering to the swings. "And if we hadn't gone to the lab, we never would have found Liz."

"I still feel bad," said William.

Mike smiled wanly. "Don't," he said. "What's done is done, and things are different now."

William watched Elizabeth soaring on the swing. "I suppose they are," he agreed. His fingers folded the corner of his sketchbook page once, and then again; they pressed the crease until it was flat. "Would you tell me if you were in pain?" he asked.

Mike chuckled. "Not unless you forced me to." William's stare was unwavering and after a moment, Mike sighed in surrender. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But it's usually just a dull ache and I've gotten used to it." He shrugged like it was nothing but William stared onward, worriedly.

"What hurts?" William asked. "Have you tried taking anything for it?"

"That would require a stomach," Mike laughed, but William didn't reciprocate. Mike's face relaxed into something more serious and William realized he was finally seeing a bit of how his son was feeling and it wasn't good. "The ache is all over," he said, tracing his arms. "Everywhere the endoskeleton went. I think all the tunnels are still there, empty. But I don't ever hurt bad except when I push myself too hard or sleep on my stomach. When that happens, I just have to grin and bear it and eventually it subsides. Though, the things that push me too hard have been increasing lately and sometimes I have nightmares where I can't breathe or move at all." He stopped suddenly like he'd said more than he meant to. He glanced up at William and flashed a smile. "Aren't you glad you asked?"

William gently took hold of Mike's bandaged hands. "I promise you, Mike, I will find a way to reverse what happened to you."

Michael laughed and shook his head. "What are you going to do? My organs are long gone and I kinda need those to go back to normal."

"Your organs might be gone, but I'm going to find a way to get your body to heal itself," said William.

Mike patted William's hand. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Just focus on your own recovery. I'll be fine."

"I need to do this," insisted William. "I'm your father, and whether you believe me or not, I will find a way to fix this." Mike had a worried look. "Humanely," added William, more softly.

Michael scanned the playground until he saw his children. They had moved on to the fountain and were kicking water at each other in the wading pool. "I believe you, Dad," he said. "Just promise you'll stop if it starts compromising your recovery."

"I'd never let it do that," William promised. "You and I both know I can't afford to."

Michael searched his face and smiled. He gave him a quick hug and thanked him. As flippant as Michael pretended to be about his own health, it was clear it bothered him. And if there was any way to reverse the effects the endoskeleton and remnant had had on him, William would find it. William was tenacious to a fault, an attribute that used to get him into trouble but now it might do some good.

"Are we going to be transforming the garage into a laboratory?" asked Michael.

"Maybe," said William. "I'm not sure yet."  
"Well, let me know if you need an extra pair of hands," said Mike and opened his laptop again.

William went back to doodling, jotting notes of where to begin his research next to half-finished drawings of horses and bears. Charlie and the kids came jogging up the hill. Sammy was all wet from the fountain and when he threw himself into William's lap, his t-shirt soaked through the sketchbook.

"Careful, bud," said Mike, gently lifting him.

"It's fine," said William, shaking water droplets out of the pages. "It will dry." Elizabeth took the sketchbook from him and shook it faster.

"The kids are getting hungry," Charlie said to Mike. "I was thinking of stopping for burgers on the way home, if you're up for it."

Mike slipped his laptop into his bag. "I'm always up for burgers," he said, grinning at his sopping wet children as Charlie helped him to his feet. "I'm glad we remembered to bring towels."

Charlie slung both her and Mike's bags over her shoulders. "Right?" she said, holding Mike's waist to support him as they walked over the uneven ground.

William and the children followed. It occurred to him that Mike smiled more now than he had before the accident but that didn't mean he was happier; it struck William that it was a habit Mike had picked up from him. He was performing a routine, trying to convince everyone that he was doing fine and they didn't need to worry about him. Maybe that's what Mike had meant about a "customer service smile." Well, William worried about him, more now that he knew he was in pain.

He felt nervous energy building in his chest. In the past, he would have gone out to his backyard workshop and broken things until his impulsive need was satisfied, but Jack said that response wasn't healthy so William hadn't done anything like that since June, when he tore all the pages out of a book. On the other hand, he couldn't pretend those urges didn't exist, either. According to Jack, the best way for him to lower his anxiety was to surround himself with family and friends, remind himself why he was trying to get better in the first place, and talk it out. He felt like he was always talking these days, sharing some dark secret or other, like draining endless infection from a deep wound. It was strange, then, that the solution to Mike's problem had to come from the old dark lab—the very thing William tried not to think too much about—but talking could only do so much; sometimes, flesh required surgery.

—

William searched tirelessly for a way to turn Michael's body back to normal—sometimes with Elizabeth or Mike's help, sometimes alone—but no matter how hard he tried or how good his intentions were, he couldn't find the solution. The kids would soon be on winter break again and William was still no closer to solving the puzzle. He talked to Jack about it often, but Jack wasn't a scientist and couldn't help him beyond offering rejuvenation theories he found on Google. William talked to Elizabeth, hoping that she might have some insight into remnant since she spent almost as much time in the lab as William had, himself, but she didn't know either and she didn't like talking about it, so he tried not to push her too much.

One winter night, he felt like giving up. Hunched over his worktable in the garage, staring down at the mounds of papers he had brought back from the lab and books about cell culturing, he felt himself starting to panic. He had no idea what to do; Mike's condition was getting worse, yet William was failing.

Elizabeth was sitting on the futon giving haircuts to her Barbies and suddenly looked up like she had remembered something important. William saw the light of her purple eyes reflecting off the wall. "Daddy," she said, "If we can't fix Michael with remnant, maybe we can fix him with robots. We fixed ourselves with pieces of the animatronics, so maybe it will work for Mike, too."

William shook his head. "It's a good idea, Lizzie, but unlike your body, Mike's is completely organic. We can't repair him with metal like you repaired yourself."

Elizabeth cocked her head. "Why not?"

William was about to reply, but then hesitated. Why not, indeed? Why couldn't an organic body be repaired artificially? Doctors did that all the time, from stints in hearts that kept veins open to screws that kept weak bones from collapsing. And Mike was on the verge of collapse. William didn't know the first thing about biology, but he knew machines. Maybe a mechanical solution was the next best thing. With a quick swipe, William pushed aside the papers on which he had been writing chemical compounds, and set a blank sheet on the table. He began sketching out the blueprints for a system of braces that would strengthen Mike's weak body. It wasn't what William had promised, but maybe it would still be appreciated.

"Lizzie, could you please hand me the banker box from under the bed?" he asked as he made a rough sketch of Mike's body and marked the numerous areas that required aid. Elizabeth knelt by the bed and dragged the box out from under the bed. She opened it before setting it by William's chair.

"These are blueprints of the animatronics, aren't they, Daddy?" she asked.

"That's right," said William. He handed her the paper and stood up to guide her through the diagram. "Here's what I have so far. A combination of silicon gel and plastic tubes. It might not stop his deterioration, but it'll at least keep the air out, give him more structure, and maybe help him feel more solid. And here: I thought, even though he doesn't seem to need food to survive, an IV drip still might give him some more strength, and who knows, maybe prompt some healing." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know what to do about his face, though, I know his nose and eyes bother him, but what do you think? Do you think he'll go for it?"

Elizabeth looked closely at the diagram; she ran her fingers over the pencil lines. "Mike really doesn't like needles. We felt very bad when we realized we had sewn him up instead of you," she said. "He will be scared, but we think this will help him feel better. Just be careful, okay Daddy? He hurts a lot already."

"If all goes well, he won't feel a thing," said William. "I might need your help, though, if that's okay."

—

Mike wasn't on board at first. When William came to him with the plans and explained the process to him, how they would put him under general anesthesia, insert stiff plastic tubes through his core where the endoskeleton had carved him out and fill in the finer holes, gaps, and gashes with a flexible, sanitary silicone, he thanked him but said that it seemed like overkill for aches and pains. "I've been fine so far without surgery," he said, "so I think I'll be okay staying the way I am."

A week later, Michael fell; he was going down the stairs and his leg gave out, snapped at the knee. Elizabeth helped him to the couch and gave him a heat pack for the pain, the only thing that helped. William sat with him, ramrod straight, hands squeezing fistfuls of his tattered twill pants. He didn't say anything but his eyes were screaming what they both knew: this wouldn't be the last time he fell and none of these new injuries were going to heal. "Okay, Dad," Michael said softly. "I'll do it."

They immediately began gathering supplies, both from the lab and online, and turning the garage into an operating room. Charlie fought them at first, warning William that she wasn't going to let him experiment on her husband, but Mike assured her it was necessary. The surgery itself went quickly because William was a well practiced, though untrained, surgeon. Once Michael had been put under, Elizabeth, with her mechanical efficiency, opened him up and fed the tubes where they needed to go. Afterwards, ever so carefully, she spread warm silicone inside from his fingers down to his toes, smoothing it into all the scarred crevices like cement, cooling old wounds and stopping them from tearing further.

Under William's direction and Charlie's nauseated but dedicated supervision, they patched the gaping chasm in Michael's stomach. There had been numerous new tears and injuries and the flesh was dry and cracked from being more or less open to the elements. They sculpted the silicone around what remained of Michael's guts and ribs until it filled his torso, stratifying it to make sure that he would be able to move when it solidified, and then they stitched him back up with a tight sewn line of surgery thread. Charlie was sitting in a chair nearby, hand over her open mouth, tears streaming down her trembling cheeks. Even though Michael had told her what happened to him, she hadn't realized the extent of what that meant until she saw it first hand. Elizabeth put her cloth skin back on and went to comfort her while William finished cleaning Michael up and preparing for post-op care. "We're sorry," Elizabeth said, "We wish we could go back and un-scoop Mike." Charlie hugged her and rubbed her back comfortingly, assuring her that it was all right. William gently removed the breathing tube from his son's throat, hoping that the procedure had been successful.

They transferred Mike to the futon and sat in silence, staring intently, waiting for him to wake up. William furiously picked at his fingers, worrying about what he would do if Mike didn't wake up, or if he woke up and he couldn't move because of the prosthetics. What would William do then? "You would take a deep breath and try again," said Jack's voice in his head. Elizabeth was getting fidgety, so Charlie took her out to play for a short break. William inhaled an artificial breath and let it out. If the operation failed, William would try again. If the tubes made things worse, William would just take them out. Because of the remnant, Michael wouldn't die easily.

A soft groan came from Mike's lips and William jumped. He knelt by the bed where he could see better. Mike's eyes pulled open and, slowly, his pupils focused on William.

"Dad?" he croaked, then winced. He felt the front of his shirt and lifted it so he could see the wound, but it had been wrapped with gauze. He let his head relax back on the pillow.

William smiled crookedly. "H-how are you feeling?" he asked.

Mike took a couple shallow breaths before answering. "Heavy," he said. "and in pain."

William quickly went to the desk and brought back two syringes. "This one has painkillers, and this one has nutrients," he said. "I-If you wanted to start those. It's okay to wait."

Mike smiled weakly and offered his arm; it was still discolored, but it looked fuller and sturdier, a more natural shape than the knobby skin and bones from before. "I'll take both, please," he said.

William smiled back, his heart beating hard with adrenaline, thinking that maybe everything had worked out, and he injected both, making sure to push each plunger down slowly.

Mike exhaled long when it was over. "Thanks, Dad," he said.

"Charlie and Elizabeth are outside," said William hopping to his feet. "I'll get them." He raced through the house, feeling his spirits lift higher and higher, so high that he found himself laughing. The operation was a success. They would need to monitor Michael to see if it was making a difference, but for now, his son was all right and he hadn't killed him. William burst through the back door so fast the glass rattled and delivered the news.

—

Morning turned into afternoon and sank into evening and Mike remained stable. When Beth and Sammy came home from school, they waited on him hand and foot, bringing him various stuffed animals, books, and card games to play. Charlie and Elizabeth came in and out, making sure Mike was okay and bringing him whatever he needed: everything, that is, except when he asked Charlie to get his work laptop for him, which she didn't bring and told him the shop could wait a few days and that he shouldn't be answering emails on morphine anyway. Laughing, Mike relented and spent the rest of the day playing card games with his kids. All the while, William sat in the desk chair and watched him closely, clutching the case of pain medication, ready to give Mike another injection the moment he asked for one.

Charlie and the kids ate dinner in the garage with Mike and then, when Beth and Sammy started yawning, she said goodnight, gave Mike a long kiss, and took them up to bed. Elizabeth followed quickly after, as she liked pretending to brush her teeth with Beth and Sammy. Charlie left the door open when they left in case Mike called for her in the middle of the night.

"Are you in pain?" William asked for the hundredth time that day.

Mike smiled. "I'm okay for now," he replied. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," said William, clutching the case closer to his chest. "If the tubes hurt too much, we can take them out."

"They don't," said Mike, shifting to soothe a leg cramp. "Though, I guess the real test will come when I try to walk."

"Don't," said William, suddenly alarmed. "It's way too soon."

"I won't, don't worry. I don't think I could even sit up yet."

"Are you cold?"

"No," said Mike. There was a pause. "To be honest, I don't feel temperature very strongly anymore."

"Oh."

William slumped in his chair and set the case of vials on the floor next to the nightstand. Mike repositioned his blanket, folded his arms overtop, and relaxed deeper into the bedding. William wanted to do something more to help Mike recover more quickly, but there was nothing to do, so he clasped his hands on his bouncing knee, and waited for the moment Mike would be ready for another dose of painkillers.

"Hey, Dad?" asked Mike. William looked up. "Do you want to watch some Immortal and the Restless?"

A smile tugged at William's lips. They hadn't watched that soap opera since his first night at the house. So much had changed since then, almost everything, and William hoped it had changed for the better. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You aren't tired?"

"If I get tired, I'll just fall asleep," said Michael nonchalantly.

That was good enough for William. He had spent a lot of concentration that day and he would probably need to avoid expending too much energy tomorrow to recharge, but he still had enough energy to pull the desk with the TV to the bed and use the remote. William climbed onto the bed and sat against the wall with his legs across Mike's. One perk of being a ghost is that he was weightless and didn't have to worry about hurting Mike. They decided to continue where they had left off: season two, the beginning of Vlad and Clara's life with the new baby. Mike seemed ready to fall asleep as soon as the episode started. He rested his hand on William's arm.

"Love you, Dad," he said quietly.

Something broke in William's chest and he looked over at his son, but Mike was out cold. He smiled and rubbed his hand gently. "I love you too, Mike," he whispered and went back to watching the opening credits.

Twenty minutes in, William noticed pinpricks of light beginning to show up on his legs. At first, he thought it was the light of the TV reflecting off folds in the fabric, but that was impossible because he was a spirit without a body and there was no fabric to reflect off of. He sat up and on further inspection, he realized the pinpricks were on his arms and his chest as well. All of a sudden, he realized what was going on.

William quickly clicked the TV off and scrambled off the bed. He stared at his reflection in the black screen. Spots on his face were glowing as well, but they weren't pinpricks; they were springlock scars. He traced the long, curved wounds with shaking fingers illuminated by their own marks, and dreaded what this meant. He pressed his hands to the scars on his face, as though he could snuff them out like candles. This was the worst timing in the world; Mike needed him here, not floating in some ethereal void. Besides, the afterlife had made it clear time and time again that he was banished to earth forever, so why was it, now that he had accepted his fate, he was being forced to move on?

"Mike," William nudged him, careful not to do it too hard. "Mike!" he hissed. "Wake up!"

Out of the corner of his eye, William caught sight of something else glowing in the garage. He didn't want to look at it, didn't want to acknowledge that it was there. Maybe if he pretended he didn't see the portal, it would go away. He nudged Mike again and finally, Mike stirred.

"What?" he asked groggily, then stopped, staring at him. "What's going on? Why are you glowing and what's that thing glowing over there?"

William fidgeted with his sleeve. "It's a door to the afterlife, like what happened to Charlie's father," he answered nervously. "They want me to go, but I've decided to stay with you, Charlie, Lizzie and the kids."

"No," said Mike, struggling to sit up. "If this is your ride, you need to go."

William shook his head. "I can't, not with you like this," he said, holding onto Mike's sleeve. "And I promised Elizabeth I'd stay with her forever, and Beth and Sammy, they'll be so sad, they'll think I left without saying goodbye. I can't…I can't leave now."

"Dad," Mike said softly. William looked up into his face. A line of dark liquid was sneaking from the corners of Mike's eyes, but he was smiling encouragingly. "If they're offering you a chance to move on, I think that means your punishment, or whatever was keeping you here on earth, is over." He shrugged. "It's a good thing, I think, and I'd feel awful if you turned it down because you were worried about us."

"I don't want to go," said William, trembling. "I have no one over there. I'll be alone for eternity, and I can't think of a worse hell."

Mike held William's hands comfortingly. "I don't know what's waiting for you on the other side, but I know that if you don't go, you'll regret it." William shook his head again but Mike didn't let go. "You can do it, Dad. And who knows, maybe you'll be able to visit us from time to time."

"Daddy?" The child's voice flowed clear and cold like spring water. William whipped his head around and gazed dumbfounded at the tear in the center of the room.

"G—Geor…" He couldn't get the name to come out.

Mike was staring as well. "George?" he whispered. It was still just him and William in the room, but there was no mistaking the voice of his little brother.

"Hi, Mike," said the voice cheerfully.

Mike sat forward and for a moment, William thought he was going to try and stand, but he stayed in bed. He acted like he wanted to say more, which was fine because William was frozen solid hearing his son's voice again. Poor little George, who died because William had made the animatronics so damn dangerous and couldn't be bothered to keep an eye on his kids.

"George," said Mike, "I'm so sorry for…what I did to you. I was such a shit brother…"

"I forgave you a long time ago for that. And you weren't, not all the time," said George. "I wish I could talk more, but I have to go for now. I'm here for Daddy."

William and Mike looked at each other, then back to the light. "You…" William cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice from turning into a whimper. "Y-you're here for me?"

George said he was. "The kids said you were scared when they visited, so I came to guide you," he explained. "So you wouldn't be alone."

Guide me where? William wanted to ask but couldn't bring himself to. If the answer was bad, he didn't want to know and he definitely didn't want Mike to know. William looked between Mike and the portal and stumbled shakily to his feet. He approached slowly, cautiously, as though it was a trap and he was afraid of setting it off.

He stood directly in front of the tear, it and his death wounds glowing in unison. Now, so close to it, so close to finally passing over, he thought of Henry and how he must have felt, why he had seemed so eager to go. The portal hung silent in the air; there was no film over it that he would have to break through, just a soft light that reached into eternity. It was both warm and cold, making William feel comfortable and shiver at the same time despite the fact that he couldn't feel temperature. He was afraid that, if he stuck his hand in, the portal would snap it off, and yet, there was nothing he wanted to do more so he clasped his hands tightly so that he wouldn't leave prematurely.

He looked up at Mike on the bed, now hard to see past the bright glow. Mike was smiling and nodding, though he looked sad. "Go," said Mike. "We'll be all right." Yes, but will I? thought William.

He stepped carefully around the portal and gave Mike a long, tight hug. Mike brought his heavy arms around William and held him close for a long time. What had William done to deserve this? It was a question he asked often, even though there was no answer that would satisfy him. He knew he hadn't done anything good enough to earn him more time with his family, not after how he had spent his time when he was alive. But whether it had been part of the eternal scheme of things or a fluke caused by revenge and tragedy, he was thankful for it.

"I'll go," said William, turning to the portal, "but I need to say goodbye to everyone first."

"The connection's already made," said George. "If you get too far away from it, it might break."

William clenched and unclenched his fists, pondering what to do. He couldn't risk messing up the portal, but there was no way he was leaving without letting everyone know where he went. Mike patted William's arm. "I'll tell them," he said. "They'll understand."

William picked nervously at his pants, looking between the portal and the door, wondering what to do. If the afterlife wanted him so badly, he thought, they could wait a few minutes. He stood up and started towards the portal, then walked past it to the door.

Mike grabbed for him but missed. "Dad, no, didn't you hear George?"

"I'll be right back," William said as he bounded up the steps and into the house. He heard Mike still calling for him but he ignored him for now. If his gamble meant that he wouldn't be able to cross over after all, so be it. All that would mean is that he would be stuck on earth with his family, which is a fate he had already accepted.

He went to Beth and Sammy first and explained the situation to them, saying that he had to move away, but that he would come visit as often as he could. They were sleepy and didn't understand what he was talking about, so they each gave him a hug, asked why he was hugging them so tightly, and then went back to bed. William went to Charlie's room and gave her the same talk. She was alarmed at first but in the end, she hugged him and said she was proud of him. William told her the things to watch out for as Mike continued to recover and said that if anything went wrong, Elizabeth knew what to do and could perform any additional necessary surgeries.

Lastly, he went to Elizabeth. She was building houses for her newly haircut Barbies out of legos. "Lizzie, I have some good and bad news," he said as he knelt beside her on the floor. He told her what was going on, and even though she was young, being no stranger to death, she knew exactly what it meant and how serious it was. She reminded him of his promise that he would stay with her forever and pleaded with him not to go. But William said what they both already knew: that he had to. He hugged her for a long time and they both cried. He said he loved her and would miss her and that he would visit as often as he could and that they would be reunited again someday. They stayed like that for what seemed like forever and William didn't think he'd ever be able to let her go, not again. But then, eventually, Elizabeth's grip loosened and she sat back.

"Go, Daddy," she said, still crying invisible tears. "I'll see you later, okay?"

William wiped his face and then hers and smiled. "See you later," he agreed. Standing then was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, but he did it. Looking back all the time, he left Elizabeth's room and returned to the garage. The portal was still there and Mike looked panicked but upon seeing William's tear-streaked face, he didn't say anything.

"Okay, I'm ready," said William, with a final wipe of his eyes. He looked over at Michael. "I'll be back soon, hopefully."

Mike nodded. "You better," he said, choking out a laugh.

With that, William looked back at the portal, at his glowing wounds, at whatever lay beyond. "I'm ready, George," he said.

"You scared me, Daddy," giggled George.

A child's hand appeared from inside. William took it, and with one step, he passed through and the garage disappeared behind him, dissolving into all-encompassing white light. There was no furniture, no scenery, no sky. Where they were was blank, as though it was still being formed.

Before him, holding onto his hand and leading the way, was little George; he was wearing the clothes he had died in but he looked happy, he looked whole. His head wound was gone as well as the injuries from the surgeries trying to save him. He looked back, catching William staring at him.

"Cuts and stuff don't last long here," George explained.

William looked down at himself as they walked and realized that his own wounds were changing. The zig-zagging deep wounds from the metal and wires weren't bleeding anymore and they were fading like temporary tattoos. He didn't think it would mean so much to see that, but seeing his unscarred skin beginning to surface again, he found himself getting choked up.

"So, uh," William cleared the lump in his throat. "Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want," replied George. "We're waiting for now, but there's a lot of fun stuff to do and places to go while we wait." The light began changing from a white fog into something like sunlight, a form more grounded, and William was surprised that he felt the sunlight touching and warming his skin. "But someone wanted to see you first."

Someone? thought William. He squinted up ahead and he saw the figure of a man in a plaid shirt and glasses. He knew immediately who it was and his heart lept like an old motor.

"Hey, Willy," said the man with his hands in his pockets. "Can we start over?"

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who came along on this Afton family ride. I greatly enjoyed writing it and I really hope you enjoyed reading. I never expected it to get so long or to have so much support, and I'm truly thankful. If you have a moment, please leave a comment and tell me what you thought of it.

Have a great rest of your day, a happy New Year filled with FNAF and other good things, and we'll talk again soon. :)


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